


Rowan Berries, Iron, and Other School Supplies

by SecretMaker



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Faeries - Freeform, Gen, HQ Brofest God Tier, That's the whole premise of this fic: faeries, hqbrofest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 10:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 60,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10784913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretMaker/pseuds/SecretMaker
Summary: There were rules for walking. There were rules for studying. There were rules for sleeping and eating and loving and for every single aspect of life. They were necessary. They were the only things that kept people safe. They were so very easy to break.But then, sometimes, the rules were meant to be broken. Sometimes, if someone were desperate enough and clever enough and brave enough, breaking the rules could lead to a life far greater than anything they could have possibly imagined.Oikawa Tooru knew what he was doing on the day he broke the rules.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to do this challenge. I wasn't. I had too much on my plate as it was. And then I saw that there were tiers with word count challenges. And then I got in an argument with my friend over the Irish Fae. And then I signed up for the highest freaking tier available to me and wrote a story about Faeries out of spite.
> 
> The moral of the story, kids, is don't challenge Bre they will ruin everything in order to complete that challenge.
> 
> Also don't walk into a faerie ring or whatever.

Oikawa Tooru knew what he was doing the day he broke the rules. Really, when every little nuance of life was structured around avoiding something, finding that something was incredibly easy. There is no reason to avoid a faerie ring when a faerie is what you seek.

 

His knee ached as he stepped into the unused classroom. It had never been used. It was the classroom people walked past more quickly than the others, pretending they didn’t see it, pretending it didn’t exist. Inside, there was nothing but a perfect ring of desk chairs, facing one another. Tooru walked around its perimeter, staring at it. There would be no going back if he stepped inside. He walked out to the window and looked outside.

 

From here he could see the side lawn where the volleyball team started their daily jogs. There was the tree where he ate lunch with Matsukawa and Iwaizumi and Hanamaki on days when it was too perfect to stay inside. There was the patch of mud where Yahaba had kicked some third year’s ass for making a comment about Watari’s skirt last August. There was the faerie mound, and a pair of students giving it a wide berth. The sky was a dull grey, mirroring Tooru’s mood. Kindaichi’s ridiculous turnip hair bobbed across the lawn, a drink in each of his hands. Tooru smiled.

 

He would do anything for his team, anything at all. But he had failed them. The spring tournament had come and gone, and he had failed to lead his team to victory, just like he had at every tournament before that. He wasn’t a worthy captain, not the way he was now. The cycle of failure he was on now would only continue into the future, until he let down every team he was on. Unless he did something drastic.

 

Something like step into a faerie circle.

 

His knee twinged like a warning as he stepped away from the window. He ignored it and slipped between two of the chairs.

 

It was bright, inside the ring. Sun streamed through the windows, blinding Tooru. He scrubbed at his eyes, blinking until his vision cleared, and when he opened them at last, there was a girl sitting across from him.

 

“We were wondering when we would get a visit from you,” said the girl. She wore a Seijoh uniform, but her hair was too long and perfect, her skin too pale and her eyes too bright to be entirely ordinary. “The fair prince of the volleyball team, the one who charms the world with his pretty words and his pretty face. Hubris and starlight in a crown made of tin.”

 

“I’ve come to offer a trade,” Tooru said when it seemed like the girl was done talking. It probably should have been more disconcerting, listening to her describe him like that. But Tooru was too desperate to care.

 

“What would you trade for, little princeling?” the girl asked. She tossed her hair over one shoulder, silver so pale in middle of the bright classroom that it seemed to flicker in and out of being. She was perched in one of the chairs that made up the circle while Tooru stood in its center, feeling like a meal.

 

Tooru faced the girl and ignored the flickers of movement and shadow at the corners of his vision. He had one chance at this. A single slip in his wording or demeanor could mean his eternity spent in the Fair Court. If he made it out alive, that was. There were rumors of people who said the wrong thing, or weren’t polite enough, or asked to much. No one looked at these people when they passed them in the hall. It was better not to see.

 

Tooru saw it all now. He looked the risk dead in the eye, and he made his wish.

 

“I wish for the power to defeat my enemies,” he said. “For the ability to lead people to victory over those who stand in my way.” The girl smiled, a wicked thing, a beautiful thing.

 

“That is not an uncommon wish,” she said. “But it is one that carries great worth. A heavy price must be payed to win a heavy reward.”

 

“Name your price,” Tooru said. She tossed her hair.

 

“Our people value power,” she said. “We treasure it. And in return, we would require the thing that you most treasure. One treasure for another.”

 

Tooru considered. He thought over everything he owned, weighing its value against what he wanted. His mind stuttered over one in particular, and he knew that was what he had to offer. It hurt to even think of parting with it, but it hurt more to think of another failure, another team let down. He nodded.

 

“I will bring you the thing I treasure most, in exchange for the guaranteed power to defeat my opponents.” The girl smiled at him again, clever and dangerous.

 

“We find ourselves in agreement,” she said. “We will await your return, with the agreed upon price. Do try not to keep us waiting.”

 

“I will be prompt,” said Tooru with a bow, backing away. He tripped over the foot of a chair and careened out of the circle. On his back in the empty classroom, he stared at the weak grey light that filtered across the ceiling and took a deep breath. He would have to go to practice this afternoon, but he would return once the sun was down to hold up his end of the bargain. It would only be a few more hours, and then he would have everything he wanted.

 

-

 

Iwaizumi was worried about him. Tooru had expected nothing less from the one person who knew him better than anyone else. What he hadn’t expected was for Kyoutani to be worried about him too.

 

Kyoutani didn’t show his concern the way most people did. He wasn’t shy and respectful questions like Kindaichi or claps on the back and brushes of shoulders like Hanamaki or sharing of lunches and silent support like Matsukawa. Kyoutani was long, assessing stares while he worked out what was happening, and then a piercing gaze that both judged and absolved from judgment when the realization came. Tooru evaded him for most of practice, hoisting him off on Yahaba and leading receiving practice on another court. When practice drew to a close he slipped away before anyone could notice him.

 

“It’s not like you to run away.” Tooru squawked reeling backwards as Kyoutani stepped out of the shadow he had been standing in. He only just managed to stay on his feet, but he tossed his head and crossed his arms and put as much haughty pride into his smile as he could.

 

“Hiding in shadows, Kyouken-chan?” he sneered.

 

“Waiting in them,” Kyoutani answered. Tooru shook his head, ready to walk away. Kyoutani reached out and grabbed his wrist. “You’re making a mistake,” he said.

 

“What would you know?” Tooru snapped. Kyoutani blinked at him, inexorable. Tooru’s heart stuttered in his chest and he ripped his arm out of Kyoutani’s hold. “You don’t know anything about it, Kyouken-chan,” he hissed. Kyoutani’s eyes followed him to the clubroom, and the feeling lingered even as he slammed the door.

 

Kyoutani didn’t understand. There was nothing he could do, no way around this deal he had made. He couldn’t face the thought of destroying yet another team. So when he finished changing as the rest of the team was filing into the locker room, he kept his farewells short. He knew they were watching him as he darted out into the night, but he couldn’t stop to dwell on how strange it looked to them. He walked home faster than he normally would have, fearing with every step that Iwaizumi or Kyoutani would come to stop him.

 

They never did. He made it home unhindered, stepping into the dark, empty house with a sigh. His feet carried him up the stairs to his bedroom and over to the shelf above his desk without any input from him, and for a moment he stood staring up at it. This was where he kept the things that were most important to him: ticket stubs and pictures and cards and trinkets amassed over the past eighteen years. Sitting there in the very center was the award he had won in his last year of middle school, the cumulation of years of hard work and the promise of years to come. There was a picture of the team leaning against it, of the day they had all gone out for karaoke to celebrate Matsukawa and Yahaba’s birthday. They were all smiling, even Kunimi and Kyoutani, and it broke Tooru’s heart. He slid the picture carefully aside to pull down the award.

 

It had been everything to Tooru, the day he’d received it. There had been other awards, other recognitions and accolades, but this was the one he was proudest of. This was his treasure, the one thing he cherished above any other possession. It was his reminder of why he worked as hard as he did, what he had sacrificed and what he could obtain. If giving up this reminder would give him what he had worked so hard for, then he could do it. Nodding to himself, he put the award into his bag and walked back out of the house.

 

He took the long way back to the school, in order to avoid running into Iwaizumi again. The streets were deserted, everyone already in their homes with their families and their dinners and their quiet, domestic lives. There was no one to pay any mind to a single teenager making his way toward the darkened high school. He stepped up to the main entrance and couldn’t help but smile. Iwaizumi had rolled his eyes and grumbled that there was absolutely no reason to learn, no possible future in which they would need to know how to pick a lock. And maybe that had been true, for him. Iwaizumi had no need to pick locks, when he could open doors just by being himself. He didn’t need to scratch and bite and claw his way to mediocrity, like Tooru. Iwaizumi was incredible by nature.

 

The lock clicked open and Tooru stepped inside the school.

 

She was waiting for him in the same circle of chairs where he’d first made the deal. In the moonlight, her skin seemed even paler, her hair brighter, like it was spun from the stars themselves. Tooru stepped forward and held his bag in front of him like a shield.

 

“Welcome back, princeling,” she purred. “Have you brought us what we asked of you?”

 

“In exchange for the power to defeat my enemies,” Tooru said slowly, “I have brought you the thing I treasure most.” He pulled out the award and held it toward her.

 

She smiled.

 

“Oh, little princeling,” she said, uncrossing her legs and standing. She was taller than him. “You humans are so funny. You think a bit of stone and metal constitutes a treasure?”

 

“It is not the plaque itself that I treasure,” Tooru said. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and his palms began to sweat, but he kept his expression even. “It’s what it represents. This is all the hard work I’ve put into volleyball, everything I’ve sacrificed, all of my dreams. This,” he held the award close to his chest, “is my heart.”

 

The girl crossed the circle to stand in front of him. She held out her elegant hands and Tooru placed the award in them. She turned it over to look at it, that same smile dancing around her face.

 

“No,” she said in that voice like music, “it’s not.” She tossed the award away, and it clattered to the floor outside of the circle. She did not take her eyes off of Tooru. “What you treasure most is not an object. Your heart is does not reside in something you can hang on the wall. You do not seem to understand this, or you would not have insulted us with such a paltry offering. So I will give you one more chance. Bring that which you treasure most to us before the sun sets on the end of this week, and we will give you what you desire. But be warned. Another such insult will not be taken so lightly.” Tooru opened his mouth to argue, or complain, or something else that would bring him equal trouble, but she smiled at him and whatever he was going to say fell away. Instead, he bowed, and backed out of the circle of chairs. His knee twinged again, but instead of the same desperate hope he’d felt before, this time it flooded him with anger. He turned on his heel and marched back home.

 

-

 

“Hey, is it just me, or is the captain a bit off today?” Hajime knew Kindaichi hadn’t meant to be overheard, but the kid couldn’t whisper to save his life, and frankly, Hajime had the same worry. He dropped the towel he was using to mop sweat from his brow and turned to face Kindaichi and Matsukawa with a sigh.

 

“He’s just under a lot of stress lately,” he said quietly. Kindaichi squeaked and turned red, but Hajime waved him off. “His parents are putting a lot of pressure on him to get into a good university, so he’s probably not sleeping again. I’ll talk to him.”

 

“Look at him go,” droned Matsukawa, leaning against Kindaichi.

 

“Such a hero,” added Hanamaki, coming up to rest against Kindaichi’s other side. “A knight in shining kneepads.” Hajime barely took the time to flip them off as he crossed the gym to where Oikawa was just starting another endless round of serves.

 

“Oi, asshole!” Hajime called as he neared. “That’s enough for one day. Help us clean up.” Oikawa completed his serve and returned to solid ground like a meteor hurtling to earth. Hajime watched as he turned to grab another ball. He stepped forward and tangled his fingers in Oikawa’s shirt. “Tooru,” he murmured.

 

Oikawa started as though coming out of a trance. “Oh, Iwa-chan,” he said. “I didn’t see you there.”

 

“It’s time to pack up,” Hajime said. Oikawa blinked at him.

 

“I’m just going to get a few more rounds in,” he said with a blinding grin. Hajime shook his head.

 

“It’s time to pack up,” he repeated. “The team’s starting to worry about you. _I_ _’m_ starting to worry about you. Take a break for the night.” Oikawa looked like he was going to protest, but then some emotion shifted behind his eyes and he nodded instead. Still, Hajime waited until Oikawa had dropped the ball back into the cart before he let him go. He watched Oikawa make his way over to the locker rooms out of the corner of his eye as he helped Yahaba take down the net.

 

A growing concern had been tugging at Hajime’s gut for the past couple of days. Oikawa _had_ been sleeping less, it was true. But there was something more going on with him, something he was keeping from the team. There was something in his eyes, a different light from his usual manic energy. Something in the way he held himself, the set of his shoulders and the angle of his wrists. Something in the tone of his voice and the way his gaze kept flickering to doorways and shadowed corners. Hajime had a sinking feeling he knew what it was.

 

That feeling proved itself true on the walk home that night.

 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said, like it was the beginning of any other conversation. It was belied by the way he twisted his fingers together almost nervously. “If you were to ask for one thing, anything at all, and know that the consequences would be worth it, what would you ask?”

 

“That’s a stupid question,” Hajime grumbled.

 

“Rude!” For a moment, the real Oikawa was back, sticking his tongue out at Hajime. Then he sighed and the sad, nervous creature who’d been inhabiting his skin was back. “Please, just answer?”

 

“I wouldn’t ask for anything,” Hajime said with a shrug. “I’ve got everything I need, and anything I could want badly enough to ask them for it.”

 

“There’s nothing you would want, Iwa-chan? No impossible dream that makes your heart pound and your palms sweat?” Oikawa looked up at the stars. “Nothing you would risk everything for?”

 

Iwaizumi watched him, thinking that everything was an awful lot, especially when Hajime was so blessed already. There couldn’t be anything out there that was worth that. “You’re talking nonsense,” he said instead.

 

“Maybe.” Oikawa smiled, eyes still trained upwards. “Maybe I am. But that’s to be expected, huh?”

 

Hajime didn’t have time to ask him what he meant. They were already at Oikawa’s house, and he was waving goodbye and jogging up the path and disappearing through his front door and Hajime was alone on the sidewalk. He shook off the feeling that something important was about to happen. Something important was always about to happen, and anyway, Hajime had a math test to study for.

 

-

 

Oikawa was largely back to his normal, annoying self the next morning. He seemed peeved with something, but when Watari asked all he would say was that absolutely nothing had changed. Hajime wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that whatever Oikawa had done with the Fair Folk hadn’t worked or worried about the way he was behaving.

 

He waited until lunchtime when it was just the four of them in Hanamaki’s classroom to bring it up. “You’re being even more of a shithead than usual,” he said quietly. Hanamaki and Matsukawa both glanced between him and Oikawa, but didn’t say anything.

 

“Is it shitty of me to be upset when someone doesn’t uphold their end of the bargain?” Oikawa sneered. Hajime watched Matsukawa’s eyes grow wide with dawning understanding.

 

“What the fuck did you do, Hanger?” he hissed. Oikawa sniffed and tossed his hair, looking out the window.

 

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It didn’t work anyway. I guess they aren’t as powerful as they sa-” Hajime and Matsukawa both clapped their hands over Oikawa’s mouth.

 

“You’re going to get yourself killed saying that shit,” Hajime growled. “Or worse.”

 

“Are you saying what I think you are?” Hanamaki whispered, leaning forward. “Please tell me you weren’t stupid enough to try and bargain with the Fair Court.” Oikawa craned his head back until the hands on his mouth fell away.

 

“It’s only stupid because it didn’t work,” he said. “They weren’t powerful enough to grant my wish. What makes you think they can actually hurt me?”

 

“Tooru,” whispered Matsukawa, and it sounded like he saying goodbye. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”

 

“Please,” Oikawa said with another toss of his head. “I’m not scared of faeries, Mattsun. They can’t touch me.”

 

Under an uneasy silence, they returned to their food. Each bite felt like ash on Hajime’s tongue, and he couldn’t help glancing at Oikawa out of the corner of his eye. When the bell rang and they split up for their own classrooms, Hajime took one last long look at his friend, suddenly uncertain that he would ever get the chance again.

 

That uncertainty proved correct when Oikawa didn’t show up for afternoon practice.

 

“He’s probably talking to some girls again,” Yahaba said, waving his hand as if to fan away the team’s worry. “He’ll turn up.”

 

“When was the last time anyone saw him?” Watari asked. He had the same nervous light in his eyes as Matsukawa and Hanamaki, the kind that came from knowing the answer to a question he didn’t want to ask.

 

“We ate lunch with him,” Hanamaki said. “He wasn’t in his classroom when the final bell rang.”

 

“Did he make it to his classroom at all?” asked Matsukawa.

 

“What do you mean, Senpai?” Kindaichi’s eyes were growing nervous as well.

 

“He wouldn’t be that stupid,” Kunimi said, but he glanced at Hajime as though to ask _would he_? Hajime looked around at his team, his family, at a loss. He couldn’t drag them into danger just because their idiot captain had-

 

“He’s gone.” All eyes snapped to Kyoutani, standing a few steps away from the group. He was staring at the door to the gym, but it didn’t seem like he was actually seeing it.

 

“What do you mean?” Kindaichi asked. Kyoutani’s eyes focused, and he turned to face the rest of the team.

 

“They took him,” he said simply. “Oikawa stepped through a faerie circle. He’s gone.”

 

They were silent. There were rules, after all, rules for walking and studying and eating and sleeping and loving and every aspect of life. They were simple and clear-cut. Speak politely. Don’t make a deal when the consequences are too steep. Don’t eat their food or sleep in their spaces.

 

Don’t step into a faerie ring.

 

Oikawa had broken the rules, and there was nothing any of them could do about it.

 

“So what do we do about it?” Watari asked. He met the team’s questioning looks with a determined set of his jaw. “We can’t just let them have him. There are ways to deal with these things.”

 

“Watari, we can’t just…” Matsukawa trailed off.

 

“Senpai?” Kindaichi placed a careful hand on Matsukawa’s shoulder.

 

“There’s almost no chance it would work,” he said clearly. He turned his gaze around the clump, now more of a circle than anything, and met the eyes of each person. “I’ve only heard of it succeeding once.”

 

“What is it?” Yahaba asked.

 

“A myth,” Kyoutani interrupted. “It’s not true.”

 

“It could be,” Matsukawa insisted, quietly. “Do we have any other choices?”

 

Kyoutani stared at him for a long time, his eyes going soft and unfathomable. “No,” he said at last. “We don’t.”

 

“Is one of you going to share, or…?” huffed Yahaba. Kyoutani rolled his eyes.

 

“There’s a legend about a woman whose husband was taken to the Fair Court,” he said. “Her family urged her to hold a funeral and move on with her life, but she insisted that as long as he was alive she was going to get him back. So she and her two sisters set out on a journey to find the court. When they arrived, the Faerie Queen was intrigued by her gall, and set the sisters three impossible tasks. When the tasks were completed, she swore to return the woman’s husband to her.”

 

“Did they complete the tasks?” Kyoutani turned his stare on Kindaichi, then shrugged.

 

“Some versions,” he said. “In others the queen eats the woman and makes her sisters dance at an eternal feast.”

 

“Delightful,” Kunimi muttered while Kindaichi turned pale. “So are you suggesting we go find the court and hope not to become dinner and a show?”

 

“Do we have a choice?” Matsukawa returned.

 

“Of course don’t we have a choice,” Hajime said. “None of you are going after him. It’s not worth putting all of you in danger too.”

 

“What, so you’re just going to ride off into the forest like a martyr?” Hanamaki snorted. “Not likely.”

 

“He’s our captain too,” Kyoutani said, and Hajime tried not to sputter at the weight of that statement. “For better or worse, his fate is tied with each of ours.”

 

“Well,” said Watari, stretching his arms above his head. “If we’re going on a pilgrimage, we’re gonna need some supplies.”

 

“Shinji, please,” Yahaba whined. “Please do not drag me to your creepy aunt’s house again I barely survived the last time!”

 

“Oh, we’re not going to my aunt’s house,” Watari said. He smiled, all sunshine and flowers and absolute, terrible power. “We’re going to my grandma’s.”

 

-

 

Watari’s grandmother’s house was exactly like Kentarou had expected it to be. The inside of one witch’s home looked much the same as any other’s after all. He couldn’t understand why Yahaba was scared so shitless of the place.

 

“Shinji, you should have warned me the fluffy one was coming,” scolded Watari’s grandmother. She had opened the door and scanned the little crowd on her front step with a sneer, and then led them into her living room. Yahaba hadn’t quite been trembling before, but now he was. “I would have made lavender tea instead,” Watari’s grandmother continued, staring down her nose at Yahaba. “He’s too twitchy.”

 

“That can’t be helped, Gran,” said Watari with a shrug. “You intimidate him.” She sniffed and sat down in her throne-like armchair. The team shuffled awkwardly for a moment before Kentarou flopped onto one of the couches, pulling Yahaba down next to him. The rest of the team took their seats as well, on couches and armchairs and the floor. Watari’s grandmother looked them all over with a cold, calculating gaze.

 

“So, then,” she said, folding her long, bony fingers together. “What brings you boys to me?”

 

“It’s our captain, Gran,” said Watari. “He made a deal with the Gentry, and then, I don’t know, something went wrong. Kyoutani says he stepped into a ring and they took him this afternoon.”

 

“And what do you expect me to do about that?” She said it like she was genuinely asking, offering her help but only if they asked the right question. Watari looked around the room.

 

“We’re going after him,” said Watari. His grandmother hummed and swept her eyes across the team once more.

 

“You,” she said, stopping at Kyoutani. “Your sight. Is it tied to this realm or the other?”

 

Kentarou’s first instinct was to deflect. The _I_ _’m sorry ma’am, but I have no idea what your batshit self is talking about_ was already perched on his tongue. It fell away as she stared. “It’s anchored in this one,” he muttered. “I don’t know how far it will extend.” She nodded.

 

“There are ways to grant the sight temporarily,” she said. “A rock with a hole bored through it by running water. Silver burns. Dangerous things to play around with, even moreso if you get caught. No,” she sighed, looking away from Kentarou and staring at nothing instead, “you will not be able to rely on your eyes for guidance. You will need something more.” She climbed to her feet, stately and imposing for all that she was shorter than Watari, and strode across the room to a small, ornately-carved table. From its drawer she pulled a box. “The rules will not change once you cross the threshold, but they will become much more important.”

 

“Ma’am?” At Iwaizumi’s prompting, she shook her head, smiling down at the box in her hands.

 

“I am old, but to the beings on the other side I am no less a child than any of you. In my youth I befriended one of their princes, and that friendship has brought me many blessings, and many burdens. One is this.” From the box she lifted the universe.

 

Kentarou had to blink once or twice to clear his vision before he could see it properly. The fine chain was too bright to be silver, wrought in the shape of an intricate vine with leaves and flowers curling here and there. The pendant, though.

 

Oh, the pendant. The entire world was hanging from that chain, but when Kentarou squinted he could see the glamour that made it look like an ordinary diamond - or as ordinary as any diamond the size of a golf ball could be. She looked up at him, and he knew from the hints of a smile around her eyes that she knew he could see it.

 

“Fifty-three years I’ve had this,” she said. “When he gave it to me, he said I would not have it long. I would need to pass it on, as a signal to all the Fair Ones that the wearer would meet, that they were under his protection. He was adept at prophecy, but not so good with time. You see, fifty years is half a lifespan for us, but for them it’s little more than a moment.” She cupped the universe-stone in her hand, a fond smile darting across her face before it disappeared from sight. She crossed the room and held it out to her grandson.

 

As Watari hooked the chain around his neck, Kentarou couldn’t help but notice how princely, how otherworldly he looked, almost as though he were one of them. He tucked the pendant beneath his collar, and the illusion was gone, though the tug in Kentarou’s chest that drew him toward Watari was not.

 

“You will need iron,” she said, watching her grandson. “They cannot touch it, though its protection is not to be wholly trusted. Rowan and hazel. Salt. They are easily frightened off by the sound of bells, but do not expect they will be gone for long. If you must stray from the path do so in a straight line, and do not follow the lights or sound of music. Never lose sight of one another.” She cupped a hand around Watari’s cheek. “You will need to be very brave and very clever and very lucky. You all will.”

 

Watari didn’t say anything. He surged forward to hug his grandmother as tight as he could, and she hugged him back the same. When he led the way out of her house they all pretended not to notice the tears he wiped from his cheeks. Matsukawa took over leading the group, steering them toward his house not far away.

 

“I’ll never see her again.” The words were quiet, only meant for Yahaba and Kentarou walking on either side of Watari. Kentarou reached out and took Watari’s hand. There were no words he could offer.

 

“I’m sure you will,” Yahaba tried. Watari shook his head.

 

“He won’t,” Kentarou said. He squeezed Watari’s hand, and Watari squeezed back.

 

“It’s okay, Shigeru. I knew it would happen eventually. People like her leave when they’re ready, and not a moment before or after.” Watari tried to smile, but didn’t quite manage it. He pulled his hand from Kentarou’s to wipe the last of the tears as they approached Matsukawa’s house.

 

“I should have some things we can use in here.” Matsukawa opened the door to his creepy-ass basement, the one they had sent Kindaichi into on a dare during the first sleepover of the year. Kentarou paused at the top of the stairs, watching the rest of his team disappear into the gloom. He could still sense them moving around just out of his sight, but something about the solitude made him feel like this was a warning, one he couldn’t quite interpret. Hanamaki poked his head around the corner with a grin and a gesture for Kentarou to join them, and the feeling was gone. He followed them into the gloom.

 

“Mattsun, why do you even have all this shit?” Iwaizumi was asking as Kentarou reached the basement. Matsukawa grinned at him, holding out what looked to be a mail shirt.

 

“Watari’s grandma’s a witch, my uncle’s a faerie hunter. We’ve all got people that make family dinners fun.” He tossed the shirt at Iwaizumi. “I’ve only got like three of those though, so everyone else will have to make due with this other shit.” He gestured to a _literal treasure chest_ filled to the brim with metal chains, gloves, and other sundries. Kentarou could all but taste the iron in the air, and underneath, something sweeter. He turned to follow its scent, paying no heed to the padding of bare feet behind him.

 

Matsukawa’s basement was endless. Hulking shapes loomed in the shadows, furniture covered with tarps and inch-thick layers of dust, artifacts of unknown origin and purpose, rolled rugs and broken crutches and half-assembled car parts. Kentarou walked between them, trailing his fingers along their surfaces and taking in their stories. He waited until the others’ voices were muffled impressions before he stopped.

 

“Your brother wouldn’t want you snooping,” he said. There was a pause, and then a shuffle and the same quiet footsteps as before. Kentarou turned to face Matsukawa’s sister with a grin.

 

“What Nii-chan doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Akemi said with her lower lip sticking out and her arms crossed over her chest. “’Sides, I just wanted to know where you’re going.”

 

“Where do you think we’re going?” asked Kentarou. She glanced over her shoulder, then back at him, considering.

 

“Somewhere I can’t follow,” she replied. “Somewhere none of you should go, but especially not _you,_ Ken-nii. I can see the gate, but not what’s on the other side.”

 

“Not bad, short stuff.” Kentarou ruffled her messy black hair with a grin. “Now. I’m looking for something back here. Can you see it?” Akemi cocked her head to one side, staring up at him with those bottomless pits she called eyes. Slowly, her focus shifted to the pie of junk behind him.

 

“There, under that clock,” she said, pointing. “It was my great-great-great grandma’s.” She focused on Kentarou, and once again she was just another over-inquisitive twelve-year-old. “Does that mean great-great-great grandma was taken by the Good Neighbors too?”

 

“Maybe,” Kentarou said as he dug through the junk. “Or maybe she knew someone who was. Or maybe she did one of them a favor and won a token in return. Who knows.” He found what he was looking for at last, underneath half a hard hat and what looked like Matsukawa’s third grade art project. He held it up for her to see.

 

“Oh, it’s a knife,” she said. “I thought it would be a key.”

 

“Maybe it’s both.” She smiled at him, then turned on her heel to skip back to the others. He grabbed a length of cloth to wrap the knife in, then slipped it into his belt before following her.

 

“There you are,” huffed Yahaba, reaching out to tug him closer. “Here, put this on.” He thrust a length of iron chain at him then turned back to digging in the trunk. Kentarou took it, settling it on his head like a circlet. Akemi giggled at him, and while everyone was distracted by her he took it off and fastened it around his neck instead, ignoring Watari’s knowing glance.

 

“There’s a rowan tree outside where we can get some berries and leaves, and there’s salt in the kitchen. Akemi, can you run upstairs and grab some of the bells out of the cabinet in Mom’s room?” Matsukawa watched her dart up the stairs, then turned around with a sigh. He closed the lid of the trunk and stared at it. Kunimi laid a hand on his arm.

 

“She’ll be fine,” he murmured.

 

“I know,” said Matsukawa. “I’m just worried I won’t be there to see it.”

 

“We’re coming back,” said Yahaba fiercely.

 

“Yeah, but _when?_ I told her to stay at our aunt’s house for a while, but I don’t even know how long that will be.” No one answered Matsukawa this time. He picked up the last bits of iron on the floor and stood, straightening his shoulders. With one more deep breath, he led the way back out of the basement. This time, Kentarou did not hesitate to follow.

 

He watched each of his teammates as they gathered the rest of their supplies. Schoolbooks and gym kits were dropped off in Matsukawa’s room to free up space in their bags for food and garlands that Kindaichi and Akemi made out of rowan branches. Watari lectured Yahaba and Hanamaki on what not to say and do when they came across one of the Fair Folk. Matsukawa strode around the house trying to look like he was keeping busy rather than saying goodbye, and Iwaizumi went with him. Kentarou looked out the window at the path they would take to the forest and the world that lay beyond. He did not hope that they would make it back alive and in their own time, because hoping was a clear invitation for those hopes to be dashed. Instead, he promised the house that he would return in good time, with his team intact. The old house groaned and settled in answer.

 

-

 

Kyoutani led the way into the forest. He had that quiet, self-contained aura about him that he got sometimes when he thought no one was paying attention. Akira had seen it before, in the halls and at lunch and during lulls in practice. Yahaba had tried to explain Kyoutani’s gift to him once, but it had only left him confused and wary. Watari had tried to explain it better, and that had left him confused and wary, but accepting. It wasn’t the weirdest thing Akira had come across, after all.

 

Now, however, watching the way Kyoutani skirted the faerie tree in the middle of the park, Akira couldn’t hep but wonder. The Fair Folk were just a part of life, a nuisance to be avoided. The rumors were that people with the sight were those with a drop or two of faerie blood in their veins, gifts given to brave or cunning ancestors and passed down through generations. Kyoutani wasn’t the kind of person Akira would expect to be the grandson of a faerie, but there was a wildness to him that made sense. There came a rustle in the bushes, one that Akira shrugged off as a rabbit or a squirrel, but Kyoutani stopped dead.

 

“Show yourself,” he growled. Akira watched him from his place at the back of the group near Kindaichi.

 

“And what do we have here?” The voice was young, full of laughter and venom. It sounded from everywhere at once, and from nowhere at all. “Eight boys armed for a quest through the forest. Do the little knights know what they’re getting themselves into?” There was another rustle, and a rush of wind as though something that had existed was suddenly gone and the world was trying to fill the gap it left.

 

“What the hell was that?” hissed Yahaba. Kyoutani glanced at him.

 

“Gatekeeper,” he grunted. “We’ll run into him again.”

 

“What do we do? You have to have some sort of plan,” Yahaba insisted. Kyoutani shrugged.

 

“The plan is to walk,” he said. “If they want to stop us that’s their choice, not ours. The gate is about half a mile in.” With that, he stepped between the trees. Watari’s grandmother’s warning about not losing sight of anyone rang in Akira’s head and he reached out to grab Kindaichi’s shirt. Kindaichi glanced at him before following the others into the forest.

 

It was just an ordinary forest. Trees and fluffy little creatures and the sound of the road nearby. Nothing to be afraid of.

 

Akira held tighter to Kindaichi’s shirt.

 

“The baby’s afraid,” laughed the voice from before. “See how he clings, like he thinks he’ll get lost? You’re still on your land, little one. It’s only going to get worse from here.”

 

“I would ask you to please refrain from taunting my kouhai,” grumbled Kyoutani. “You will have your chance to test him at the gate.” Laughter like windchimes breezed through the trees and the presence was gone. Kyoutani spared Akira the barest of glances then pressed onward.

 

Akira didn’t see how this particular pair of trees marked a gate to another world any more than any other pair, but the team came to a reverent halt a few feet away. The trees jutted out into a largish clearing, splitting it awkwardly in two. Akira saw nothing abnormal about it at all. Then he caught sight of the boy.

 

He was sitting cross-legged between the two trees, looking up at the team with a curious expression on his beautiful face. And it was beautiful- fine cheekbones and a regal nose and clear skin topped with fluffy brown hair. He looked like a painting by an old master, one that belonged in a museum somewhere in Europe, not on the ground in a scrubby park outside of Sendai. He was wearing clothes that looked like they had been spun from silver and morning dew, a jerkin and breeches and delicate, flowery jewelry. He wore no shoes.

 

“The knights arrive at last,” said the boy, in the same windchime voice from before. “What would you have this fair afternoon?”

 

Iwaizumi stepped forward. He glanced at Kyoutani, so quickly that Akira almost missed it. He got the feeling the boy hadn’t missed it at all. “With your gracious leave, we wish to enter your lands and seek out the wondrous court of the Fair Folk.” Iwaizumi’s voice was soft, genteel, befitting a prince. He bowed at the waist, though he never took his eyes off the boy.

 

“Ooh, manners! I like this one.” A second boy joined the first, tall and slender and crowned in a sunbeam of golden hair. His smile lit the entire clearing and Akira found himself leaning forward, wanting nothing more than to make that smile appear again. “And what would you ask of the Court, brave knight?” He trailed long, elegant fingers through the hair of the boy on the ground, a familiar, possessive gesture.

 

Iwaizumi bowed again. “We would like to pay homage to the Court, sir. We wish to see its rumored glory for ourselves, and to behold the treasures there.”

 

“Treasures indeed,” said the first boy. “I think you have treasures of your own.”

 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean by that,” said Iwaizumi. The boy smiled.

 

“All those shiny things you wear,” he said. “They reek of iron, but underneath there’s something…” he trailed off his eyes growing distant. “Sunshine, do you smell it?”

 

“He gave it away,” replied the other. “He gave it to a girl with stars in her eyes. Why would it be here?”

 

“Perhaps one of these knightlings has been thieving.” There was a hard set to his jaw as he climbed slowly to his feet. He wasn’t as tall as his companion, or all that physically imposing, but there was something in the way he held himself that made Akira’s heart race. He took one step forward, lifting his jaw. “One of them has our love’s heart around their scrawny neck.”

 

“We don’t know that.” He was scolding the other boy, but the way he scanned the team was nothing short of predatory. “You see,” he said, voice soft and contemplative, “our magic works best in threes. The two of us have a third, our balance. He had a heart, a shiny little trinket on a quicksilver chain, that he gave away to someone who won his trust and gratitude. I don’t see her here, so I see no reason why the heart would be here too. Unless…”

 

The first boy took a step forward, then another. He stopped, utterly still, a breath away from Iwaizumi and Kyoutani at the front of the line. He looked over their shoulders, straight at Watari, who stepped toward him.

 

The entire meadow felt slow and hazy, like a dream or a memory rather than a real place. Watari walked forward, placing a hand on Kyoutani and Iwaizumi’s arms and nudging them aside. He reached under his shirt collar and began to fish out the necklace his grandmother had given him. Iwaizumi saw the danger just before Akira did.

 

The faerie watched Watari’s ever movement, and as soon as the delicate silver chain flashed in the sunlight, his face contorted with rage. He reached toward Watari just as Iwaizumi threw himself backward. He knocked Watari just out of the faerie’s reach.

 

“You have been very gracious,” Iwaizumi said in a rush, shoving Watari away. Watari struggled even as Kyoutani picked him up and started dragging him away. “We will trouble you no longer.”

 

Akira had just enough time to see the black cloud that passed over the faerie’s face, and the green, otherworldly glow of his magic as he reached out his hand again before Kindaichi was running, pulling Akira along with him.

 

He didn’t know how long they ran, or in what direction. By the time Kindaichi tripped and sent the both of them careening to the ground, he had no idea where they were or where the path was.

 

“Are you okay?” Yahaba skidded to a stop a few feet away, whirling to face them. He turned pale and shouted, “Kindaichi, get away from there!”

 

“What’s wrong?” Kindaichi groaned. Akira looked up to see what had Yahaba so worried, and fear clenched his heart. He scrambled away on his hands and knees until he was across the clearing, at Kyoutani’s feet.

 

“Kindaichi, step away,” Kyoutani said quietly. Kindaichi sat up, one hand held to his head, and looked at what he had tripped over.

 

What he had tripped over was a boy, every bit as beautiful as the two at the gate, for all that he looked sickly and pale. He was taller than either of the others had been, not much shorter than Kindaichi himself, and broad. Someone had chained him to a tree, and from the look of his face the chain was killing him.

 

“Kindaichi, get away from it,” said Matsukawa. The others filed into the little clearing, and Matsukawa stepped forward slowly. He pulled out a knife and advanced on the tree.

 

“He’s not going to hurt anyone,” Kindaichi said, shaking his head. He reached out to touch the boy’s face. “Look, he’s sick. He needs help.”

 

“Kindaichi, don’t-” Matsukawa’s warning came too late. Kindaichi was already unhooking the chain, pulling it away from the tree and the boy. As soon as it was gone, the boy collapsed, gasping like he was coming up from under water. He spasmed once or twice, panting, but the color slowly started filling his skin again.

 

“Get back,” ordered Iwaizumi, and this time Kindaichi listened. He joined the rest of the team at the edge of the clearing, though he dragged Matsukawa back with him. The boy on the ground coughed once or twice, then stilled. Akira counted three stuttering heartbeats before the boy sat up and looked around at them. His gaze paused on Watari, then on Kindaichi.

 

“You took a great risk, freeing me,” he said. Kindaichi only stared, so he turned back to Watari. “You took a greater risk, approaching the gate with _that_ around your neck. Where did you get it?”

 

“My grandmother gave it to me,” Watari replied. “She said it would guarantee us safe passage.”

 

“It would have, if I had been there.” The boy sighed and staggered to his feet. “But I take it you were not well received.”

 

“The gatekeepers were not pleased to see us with it,” Iwaizumi acknowledged. The boy grunted, brushing off his pants.

 

“Well then,” he said, and his voice rang out loud and strong. “I’ll have to have a talk with the two of them. In the meantime, I am in your debt. Would you rather I show you the path home, or the path forward?”

 

Hanamaki opened his mouth to answer, but Kyoutani clapped a hand over it. “We would like you to show us the path that leads to the court where our captain is,” he said. The boy looked at Kyoutani, a slow and careful consideration. He smiled.

 

“Very well then,” he said. “That path is this way. You may call me Shiro.”

 

The boy started walking, not pausing to see if any of them were following him. A hand dropped into Akira’s vision, and he took it to climb to his feet. Kyoutani looked at him, a silent question in his eyes. Akira took a breath and nodded, and they followed the rest of the team back into the forest.

 

-

 

The sun was starting to set, casting cathedrals of light and shadows between the trees. Shiro walked between them, neither interrupting the shadows nor casting one of his own in the light. _He_ looked as if he were standing under a noon sun, golden light spilling across his broad shoulders and dancing in his dark hair. Takahiro watched him, feeling as though if he looked away, Shiro would disappear. They came to a familiar pair of trees and Shiro stopped, staring at the empty clearing.

 

“Come out, Sweet Prince,” he called. “We have visitors.” The air around the clearing grew charged, and the hairs on the back of Takahiro’s neck stood up. He edged closer to Matsukawa. The team was silent.

 

“Where have you been, Angelfish? We were worried.” The boy from before stepped around a tree and into existence. There was nothing youthful about his face now, none of the boyish playfulness or mirthful glimmer dancing in his eyes or around his smiling lips. Now, he looked like a king, otherworldly and cruel. He eyed Shiro warily, one hand on the dagger at his hip. The other faerie wasn’t far behind. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the gateway, watching.

 

“Kiyo,” murmured Shiro, taking a step forward. “Akira.”

 

“Shiro,” murmured the tall one with the golden hair. “What happened to you?”

 

“Faerie hunters,” replied Shiro. “They caught me in a salt ring and chained me to a tree three nights ago. I would have died at sunset, but that one freed me.” He pointed toward Kindaichi, and both the other faeries stared him down for a moment before turning back to Shiro. “I’ve promised to show them the path that leads to the court where their captain is. And I promised safe passage to the owner of the heart.”

 

“You made that promise to a girl,” said the tall one. Shiro shook his head.

 

“I promised her that whoever held it would be under my protection. I knew she would give it away. It’s very difficult to keep my promises when you insist on killing anyone who comes to collect on them, Akira.”

 

“It was Kiyo who tried to kill him,” muttered Akira. “And anyway, I didn’t make that promise. You weren’t here to vouchsafe.” His eyes grew soft, and his voice. “We didn’t know where you were. Or if you were coming back. You know you can’t blame us for how we reacted.” Shiro sighed and murmured something so quietly that Takahiro couldn’t hear. He reached out, cupping his hands around the others’ necks, and leaned his forehead against first one, then the other. They were hard to look at, like staring at the sun reflected in a pond. It didn’t quite hurt, but Takahiro’s eyes couldn’t seem to focus on them. He forced himself to anyway, watching as Shiro pulled away from the others and turned to face the team.

 

“This is the path that would lead you to the court,” he said. “If you cross this threshold, you will leave behind your world and enter into ours. Do not take that choice lightly. Your protections, your iron and your rowan and all the trinkets you’ve made cannot make the journey with you. They will turn to dust on the other side.”

 

“Do not make that choice at all,” said Kiyo. “Return to your homes and your quiet little lives. Do not meddle in affairs larger than you can comprehend.”

 

“With all respect, sir,” said Iwaizumi with another bow, “we cannot. We are determined to complete our pilgrimage to your Court.”

 

“In that case…” A slow and dangerous grin stretched across Kiyo’s face. “You would do best to keep up.” He and Akira turned in perfect synchronization and disappeared into the trees. Shiro stepped up to the gate and turned to face them.

 

“I can only guarantee the safe passage of the one who holds the heart,” he said, low and fast. “They do not intend for the rest of you to reach the Court in one piece. You have made it this far by playing the game and following the rules, but it is about to get much more difficult. Do not step off the path, and whatever you do, do not lose one another. Your names are the greatest weapons they can have. Do not give them away.” With that, he turned and stepped through the trees as well. For a moment, there was nothing but the wind in the treetops, the sound of birdsong, and the pulse of life moving forward outside the forest.

 

“This is our last chance to turn back,” said Kyoutani. He was looking at Iwaizumi, who stared at the trees. “Once we step through there I won’t be able to see anything. We’ll have to rely on them to guide us through.”

 

“Oh, stop sounding so grave,” Takahiro laughed. He threw an arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulders and one around Kyoutani’s, looking at the trees with a grin. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

 

“You literally just cursed us all,” Kunimi droned. “We are all going to die horrible deaths and it will be entirely your fault.”

 

“You’re welcome!” Iwaizumi and Kyoutani still seemed tense, so Takahiro stood straight and clapped them each on the shoulder. “Come on then, Iwa-chan. Kyouken-chan. Lead the way.”

 

He got a glare from each of them, but they did step forward. Takahiro caught the hem of Iwaizumi’s shirt and reached out to grab Watari by the wrist just as they stepped between the trees. He threw a wink over his shoulder at the remainder of the team and stepped through himself.

 

He didn’t know what he expected. Some grand transformation, perhaps, a trip down the rabbit hole complete with the swirling colors and psychedelic floaty feelings that books always described when journeying from one world to the next, maybe. But instead, he stepped between two trees and on the other side he found more trees. Watari followed him, then Yahaba, Kindaichi, Matsukawa, and Kunimi. The three faeries were waiting for them a few steps away, one looking vaguely proud and the other two disgruntled. Takahiro let go of Iwaizumi’s shirt and slid his hand down Watari’s wrist to twine their fingers together.

 

“This way,” said Shiro, turning up the path.

 

Time didn’t seem to affect the world beyond the gate. Some part of Takahiro’s mind couldn’t quite wrap around the fact that the sun hadn’t gone down yet, that it was still casting the same cathedral shadows across the forest floor no matter how long they walked. Takahiro kept his eyes on Kyoutani’s back and his feet on the trail, but off to either side flashes of movement and color kept drawing his eye. The even footsteps behind him faltered.

 

“Don’t,” he murmured. Still watching Kyoutani, he reached back blindly to grab Kindaichi by the shirt. “It’s a mirage.”

 

“But I saw-”

 

“Doesn’t matter what you saw,” Takahiro interrupted. “I promise you it isn’t really there. Stay on the path.”

 

Night did not so much fall as it simply existed between one heartbeat in the next. When Takahiro realized the sun had set, he could not remember the setting or the encroaching darkness. It had simply always been night.

 

Up ahead, one of the faeries turned sharply to look at Takahiro, something calculating in his eyes. Takahiro did not look fully at him, careful to keep Kyoutani in his line of sight. Akira smiled, sharp and wicked, and turned forward once more.

 

Almost as soon as Akira looked away, the forest changed around them. The trees spread their trunks and arched their branches overhead to create a grassy ballroom. There were torches set between the trees and around a long table laden with food. In the center of the clearing were faeries, beautiful, inhuman creatures that laughed as they danced along to the music created by yet more faeries standing to one side. The song seemed to spring from Takahiro’s very soul, beckoning him to join with it. A great cheer went up when they entered the clearing, the dancing and the music stopping as all the faeries in the ring turned to greet the newcomers.

 

“The princes are come!” cried one man in a gown that looked like spiderwebs spun from starlight. “To what do we owe this honor?”

 

“To our guests,” answered Kiyo in a tone that made the hairs on the back of Takahiro’s neck stand up.

 

“Your guests look weary, Prince,” scolded a woman dressed in a rainbow. To the team, she turned with a smile and a grand gesture of welcome. “Please! Refresh yourselves. Take your rest with us a while.” Takahiro found himself leaning forward, hanging on the woman’s every word and whim. Watari cleared his throat.

 

“We are very grateful for your generous offer,” said Iwaizumi, and Takahiro hoped he was the only one who heard the crack in his voice, “but I am afraid we must decline. We wish to reach the Fair Court with all haste.” He bowed, and the woman’s smile flickered just a bit before turning brighter. She waved an elegant hand at the faeries behind her, and the music and dancing began again. She stepped closer to the team, drawing her eyes along each of them in turn before stopping on Iwaizumi.

 

“You are a very determined knight,” she said. “What do they call you?”

 

Takahiro bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning when Iwaizumi replied, “They call me Iwa-chan.”

 

“Iwa-chan,” she repeated, a bemused smile on her face. “The Court is not very far from here. A few moment’s rest will do you and your friends good. It would not do to have any of you drop from exhaustion before you reach your destination.”

 

“You are very kind to be concerned for us,” murmured Iwaizumi. His eyes traced the planes of her face, something akin to longing burning deep within them. Takahiro’s heart pounded in his chest and he had to fight back the urge to reach out to him. The music grew louder and Takahiro forgot why he was concerned in the first place.

 

“The truth is, we are very anxious to be moving on.” It was Yahaba who saved them, holding hands with a trembling Matsukawa. “We made a promise to someone very dear to all of us, and it would be horrible if we broke our word to indulge in even the grandest of feasts and the sweetest music.”

 

The woman looked at Yahaba, and for the barest of moments her glamour slipped away and Takahiro saw the creature beneath. No longer was she the picture of benevolence and hospitality, but a fearsome warrior whose fangs dripped with poison and whose eyes were black holes. She was terrible to behold, a creature far older and far more powerful than Takahiro could comprehend. Then, just as quickly as it had gone, the glamour returned and she was a radiant woman once again. She looked sad, and if Takahiro had not seen what he had, he doubted he would have been able to resist the urge to comfort her. She reached out to caress Yahaba’s cheek, and a shiver of disgust and fear ran down Takahiro’s spine.

 

The clearing, which had seemed so merry and welcoming before, now felt like a prison. The three faerie princes were standing some ways away, like wardens outside a prison cell. The music still ached in Takahiro’s bones, but this time it was the sticky-sweet pull of temptation rather than the electric pulse of joy. The food on the table still made Takahiro’s mouth water, but now it was starvation and famine and gluttonous excess. The faeries danced in a glorious, dizzying splendor, but now Takahiro noticed the humans that danced with them.

 

There were six of them, with fever in their eyes and no color in their faces. Two men and four women, dressed in clothes that seemed just a little off, just a little out of date, linked hands with the faeries and moved in their thrall. Each one of them had mangled, bloody ruins for feet.

 

Takahiro couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. Mounting horror grew in his chest, in his throat, choking his breaths and threatening to still his heart. The whirling colors of the faeries’ clothes made him feel nauseous. The sound of the music throbbed in his skull, making his eyes water. The magic of the clearing tugged at his soul and made his hands tremble. He blinked, hard, trying to clear his vision and chase away the stinging of unshed tears. When he opened his eyes again, he desperately wished he hadn’t.

 

When he opened his eyes again, Matsukawa had joined the dance.


	2. Chapter 2

Shigeru wasn’t aware of the moment he loosened his grip. He was holding on to his senpai for dear life, and then his entire world was the stare of the faerie woman who had tried to get them to stay. The first he was aware of anything but her, Hanamaki was crying out in anguish and terror, the beginnings of Matsukawa’s name that he choked off before the rest could follow. Shigeru looked up only for his heart to turn to icy fear at the sight of Matsukawa, swept up in the faerie dance.

 

“Mattsun.” Iwaizumi’s voice rang across the clearing, but Matsukawa didn’t look up. He was grinning, his head thrown back in ecstasy as he whirled to the music. “Let him go,” begged Iwaizumi.

 

“He’s free to leave whenever he desires,” said the woman with a sweet smile. Iwaizumi looked murderous, but he kept his mouth closed. There were tears running down Hanamaki’s cheeks and he was looking desperately around the clearing. Shigeru’s heart thudded in his chest at the sight of Matsukawa, linking arms with a woman whose feet bled across the grass.

 

“I wonder if their influence over humans really is as strong as the legends say after all,” he murmured. The woman’s head snapped around to face him, momentary rage flitting across her expression.

 

“What was that, dear child?” she asked warmly.

 

“Oh,” said Shigeru, as if he hadn’t known he would be heard. “I was simply wondering aloud. I’ve heard so many stories of the wonders of your magic, but now that I am here and not in my own home, I couldn’t help but wonder how much of that is truly magic and how much is simply the wonder of this place acting on weak human hearts.”

 

“Oh, I assure you,” the woman purred, “our magic is every bit as strong as the legends say. Stronger.”

 

“In that case, perhaps a bet?” Shigeru gave her his best little-boy smile, the one that had gotten teachers to give him extensions on papers and baristas to load his coffee with extra whipped cream. “Obviously you would win, but I’m curious. Indulge me?”

 

“And what bet would you make, little princeling?” the woman asked. Shigeru turned up the wattage on his smile.

 

“I would make a bargain,” he said. “If your magic is really as powerful as you say it is, then you keep the prize from the bargain. And if it’s not, well, then you would still have my friend there. Either way, my curiosity is satisfied. Really, it’s a win-win for both of us.”

 

The woman folded her arms, long sleeves of her rainbow gown brushing the ground. “Very well,” she simpered. “What is your bargain?” Shigeru could feel the eyes of his team on him, but he didn’t spare them a glance.

 

“I will give you my ability to fall in love, in exchange for Mattsun’s desire to stay here turning into desire to continue on in our journey.” The woman’s smile curled inward, turning sharp and cat-like.

 

“Yaha… Shi-chan, no!” Shigeru shot Watari a warning glance then turned to smile some more at the woman.

 

“That sounds like a wonderful bargain,” she said. “And it is done.”

 

She made no gesture, no incantation or indication at all that something was changing, but as soon as she stopped speaking, Matsukawa fell out of the dancing circle. He looked around, bewildered, and at last his eyes landed on the team still gathered at the entrance to the clearing. He pulled himself to his feet and shuffled over to them, eyes dazed.

 

“Amazing,” Shigeru crowed, all sugar and delight. “You really are that powerful!”

 

“Well, then, if you really won’t stay for the feast, it is probably best that you and the princes be on your way,” said the woman. She glanced over her shoulder at the laughing trio. “After all, the princess is waiting to speak with her brother.” There was a choking noise and Kiyo went pale while the other two laughed at him. He scowled and turned on his heel, leading the way out of the glen. Shigeru paused only long enough to bow to the faerie woman before he turned and hurried after the others. He fell into line behind Matsukawa in silence.

 

Some time passed before anyone spoke. “You didn’t have to do that,” Matsukawa murmured. Shigeru shrugged though he knew no one could see it.

 

“It was an easy bargain,” he said. “I doubt she would be too happy if she knew just how easy.”

 

“What do you mean?” Shigeru glanced ahead, at the trio of faeries leading the procession. He let his eyes linger for a moment on Watari, walking behind them, and then on each member of his team. He sighed.

 

“Just that she didn’t get as much as she thinks she did. Like taking the sight from a blind man.” Matsukawa nodded like he understood, and Shigeru let himself believe that. They lapsed into silence and the procession continued.

 

Time was not time here, and so it was difficult to tell how long they walked before the faeries came to a halt in another clearing. This one was empty, a natural break in the trees open to the stars above. “We’ll rest here for the night,” said Akira.

 

“Rest?” asked Watari, glancing at Shiro.

 

“The court is still a long way away. Too far for humans to walk with no break. We will continue on at dawn.” Shiro’s voice was even, but his eyes were bright. He offered Watari a small smile, then turned and joined the other two on the edge of the glen. Watari sat down, and the team arranged themselves around him.

 

“I don’t like this,” said Kyoutani.

 

“You don’t like anything,” Hanamaki pointed out. Kyoutani glared at him. “Anyway, we don’t have much of a choice, do we? It’s not like we can just wander off on our own.”

 

“Well in that case,” muttered Kunimi as he curled up on his side.

 

“Oi, don’t fall asleep,” ordered Iwaizumi. “There will be no sleeping until we are out of this forest, do you understand me?”

 

“Yes, _Dad_ ,” muttered Kunimi.

 

“I mean it,” Iwaizumi murmured. “Who knows how much time will pass if we fall asleep? Who knows if any of us will be able to wake you up again?”

 

Kunimi looked suitably affected by Iwaizumi’s words and sat up. Hanamaki wrapped an arm around his shoulders and sighed.

 

Shigeru tuned out the murmured conversations around him as he watched the stars wheel overhead. Movement on the other side of the clearing caught his notice and he watched the princes out of the corner of his eye. Shiro was sitting with his back to a tree, one arm around Akira’s waist and the other hanging limp at his side. Kiyo was crouched in front of him, holding out a hand as though he were scared to fully make contact. As Shigeru watched, Shiro nodded and Kiyo reached forward to curl his fingers in the collar of Shiro’s shirt. His fingers traveled downward, undoing an endless line of buttons with small and practiced movements. He paused when he reached the end, looking up at Shiro. Then he smoothed his hands under Shiro’s shirt and pulled it open. Anguish filled his expression and Akira hid his face in Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro murmured something, reaching out to comb his fingers through Kiyo’s hair. It was difficult to see with the distance, but Shigeru could just make out the line of ruined skin from where the chain Kindaichi had freed Shiro from had rested. Kiyo crawled into Shiro’s lap and bent to press his lips to Shiro’s collar bone. Shigeru looked away.

 

“Hey, you okay?” Shigeru started at Watari’s quiet question. He hadn’t noticed Watari shuffling out of the center of the group and coming to sit by Shigeru, but they were just far enough away that a whispered conversation probably wouldn’t be overheard. He shrugged.

 

“I told Mattsun already, it didn’t really matter.” Watari looked at him, then down at the grass. He gathered his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. “Are you okay?” Shigeru asked. Watari shrugged.

 

“Not really,” he said. “Kinda feels like… nevermind.”

 

“No, tell me.” Watari sighed and propped his chin on his knees, staring sightlessly across the clearing.

 

“It’s so dumb,” he said. “And I know that today probably doesn’t change anything, because the odds were already so astronomical. And I don’t want you to feel guilty over this or anything, because what you did for Mattsun was so brave. But I was kinda hoping that you’d… you know. Fall in love with me.”

 

“Watachin-”

 

“No, I know it’s dumb,” Watari interrupted. “’Cause like, what’s the chance that you would fall for me, when you’ve got so much going for you and so many other options out there? And you never seemed interested in that sort of thing, so I always figured you just hadn’t met anyone who caught your interest, or that you were focusing on school and volleyball and I wasn’t the kind of person who could change your mind from that. And I love being your friend, don’t get me wrong, I treasure it. But I couldn’t help the way I felt whenever you smiled at me, or said something clever, or got that look in your eye after a good set or when you worked out a math problem, and I just sort of thought that maybe someday, you know? Someday, we’d both be older and different and-”

 

“I couldn’t have anyway.” Watari fell silent, turning to press his cheek into his knees instead so he could look up at Shigeru. “I couldn’t fall in love even before I made that deal. I’m aromantic. I don’t feel that way about anyone.” He sighed, dropping his gaze to his hands resting empty in his lap. “I’m sorry that you had to fall for someone like me. Someone broken.”

 

“You are _not_ broken.” It was said with such ferocity that Shigeru reeled back in surprise. Watari was sitting up now, staring at Shigeru with hellfire in his eyes. “You are not broken. There is nothing wrong with you.”

 

“Watachin, I just told you, I can’t-”

 

“I don’t care,” Watari interrupted. “There’s nothing wrong with being aromantic. It’s just the way you were built.”

 

“Of course there’s something wrong with it!” Shigeru hissed. “My own best friend fell for me, and I can’t return the favor because I’m so damn _empty_ inside.”

 

“Shi-chan.” Shigeru looked at Watari, because he had no choice when Watari said his name in that soft, caring, unyielding tone of voice. “I am not so cruel or so insecure as to believe that just because you don’t feel the same way about me, you don’t love me at all. I know damn good and well that I’m your best friend, and I know that you care about me. You care about everyone on this team. You are overflowing with love, any moron can see that.”

 

“But you…” Shigeru trailed off, not certain how to finish that sentence. He made a vague gesture instead, and Watari smiled.

 

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Like I said, I value our friendship. That means more to me than whatever dream relationship I could have imagined with you.” The smile settled into something not quite happy, but not exactly pained either. He looked away from Shigeru, up at the stars, and when he spoke again, his voice was a bittersweet stab to Shigeru’s heart. “I’ll get over you, you know. Move on with my life, find someone else to love _like that_. But I won’t lose your friendship. That’s worth a little time and a little awkwardness.”

 

Despite himself, Shigeru smiled. He leaned against Watari’s shoulder and looked up as well. Together, they watched the night go one around them in companionable silence, ignoring the questioning glances sent their way by Kyoutani and Kiyo.

 

-

 

Somewhere in the silent hours between the setting of the moon and the rising of the sun, the forest sent its next attack. Shinji had not been sleeping, but he had been resting against Yahaba, not really focusing on anything at all while they waited for the night to end around them. He jerked to full awareness just as the first of the lights appeared.

 

Kindaichi was the first to move. He shifted just slightly, sitting fully upright so that he could stare into the space between the trees where the light hung, suspended and golden between the trunks. Iwaizumi reached out to hook a hand in Kindaichi’s belt as more lights appeared between the trunks.

 

“Don’t follow them,” whispered a voice in Shinji’s ear. He turned his head to see Shiro hovering in the edge of his vision. “They are a trap. Look.” Shiro laid a hand on Shinji’s shoulder and all at once he could see the lights for what they were.

 

Creatures with too many limbs and too many eyes and too many mouths were standing between the trees, lanterns in their hands. They passed by the clearing in a solemn procession, each one with a mask over their face. They were neither beautiful nor grotesque, merely strange, and terrible for it. They were not the kinds of things that inhabited the same world as Shinji, and it struck him all at once just how far away from home they were. He tightened his hold on Yahaba’s hand and watched the procession go by.

 

“What will happen if they follow them?” Shinji whispered. Yahaba glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

 

“Even I don’t know,” Shiro answered. “The procession brings with it the dawn, and it is ancient. Much older than the three of us. But suffice it to say those humans who enter their ranks are not seen again.”

 

“Watachin, what’s happening?” asked Yahaba. Shiro gave Yahaba a glance, not quite interested enough to be disdainful, then faded away from Shinji’s awareness.

 

“No one go toward the lights,” Shinji called, loud enough for the team to hear him.

 

“Why? What are they?” Hanamaki didn’t quite manage to tear his eyes away from the nearest lantern.

 

“Something very old,” Shinji replied. “And very dangerous.”

 

“Hamada-sensei’s pop quizzes dangerous, or Hanger-kun with a yo-yo dangerous?” asked Matsukawa.

 

“A little bit Hanger-san with a yo-yo, a little bit giving Shallot-kun a gallon of coffee and sending him into the equipment store alone.” Iwaizumi tightened his hold on Kindaichi’s belt.

 

They watched the procession pass by in utter silence. Shinji could feel the faeries watching them, but he refused to take his eyes off of Kindaichi. It was that focus which nearly lost them Kunimi.

 

He was so quiet, so much smaller than most of the team, and he moved so gracefully that it was hard to notice the change. But Kunimi shook off Hanamaki’s arm and stood, padding forward silently. He was almost to the edge of the clearing when Shinji saw him.

 

“Stop!” he yelled, but Kunimi didn’t pause. Shinji sprang to his feet, hauling Yahaba with him. “Grab the others,” he gasped as he ran, hoping beyond hope that Yahaba would understand and comply. His fingers locked around Kunimi’s wrist just as he stepped into line with the creatures and the lanterns and the forest disappeared.

 

Before, time had not existed. The forest on the other side of the faerie gate was outside of its passage, outside of its influence. Within the ranks of the dawn procession, nothing existed at all. There was no time, but now there was no space, no matter, none of the words that Hoshifumi-sensei the science teacher said when she meant the universe. There was nothing at all, except for Kunimi’s wrist in one of Shinji’s hands and Yahaba’s hand in the other.

 

Then, there was light, and there had always been light, existing where the nothingness had always been and yet had never been. Light, golden and enthralling, and the sound of flutes. The feeling of the others locked in Shinji’s hands started to fade away and he held on tighter. The world was spinning in Shinji’s chest, colliding and collapsing and expanding and colliding again. Everything was the golden light and the song, everything was nothing, everything was everything, and everything was inside of Shinji. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t need to breathe. He couldn’t even remember what breathing was. There were thoughts wheeling through his head, too loud and too strange to be his own. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard his own thought, his own voice. Couldn’t remember the last time he had felt the earth below his feet. Couldn’t remember why he was holding on so tight, why it mattered that he didn’t let go. There was nothing but the light and the song and the universe as it tore Shinji apart.

 

There was a voice. It only mattered in as much as it was not the everything. It was fuzzy and indistinct, sounding to Shinji’s left.

 

Shinji had a left. He had a right and an up and a down and a backwards and forwards. He had a body. He had feet and a ground beneath them, hands and other peoples’ hands in his too-loose grip. He had lungs and he gasped, tightening his hold on Kunimi and Yahaba. The forest existed again, had never stopped existing, and the creatures with their lanterns were passing on. Shinji still had his hands around his friends, a chain that continued past Yahaba until Shinji was sure the entire team was still there with them and he let out a sigh of relief.

 

“What were you thinking?” hissed Shiro. Shinji looked up to see him livid and spare inches away. He took a deep breath and shook his head.

 

“I knew you would let them go,” he said. “I knew you wouldn’t let me go.”

 

“I very nearly had to,” Shiro insisted. “I told you, the dawn procession is much older than any of the three of us. Its power is beyond my influence. Had Akira not acted as quickly as he did-”

 

“You would have been unable to keep your promise, and that would not have been my fault,” Shinji interrupted. “It is your responsibility to get me safely to the Court, not mine.” Shiro’s eyes narrowed and almost seemed to glow. Some part of Shinji’s mind was aware of the danger, but the majority of him was too busy riding a wave of adrenaline to care. “Are you telling me you can’t keep up your end?”

 

Shiro didn’t answer him. His expression turned to stone and he turned on his heel, stalking away. Shinji took a deep breath and untangled his hand from Yahaba’s to scrub at his face.

 

“You okay?” Yahaba murmured. Shinji nodded.

 

“Let’s go before we make them angrier,” he said. Yahaba offered him a faint smile and linked their hands together again.

 

“Lead the way,” he said, so Shinji did.

 

The faeries were growing somber. While they had not been particularly friendly before, now they were downright stoic. What had been quiet laughter and fond shoves shared between the trio were now gentle touches, hands on backs and knuckles brushed together. It looked to Shinji like they were trying to prepare themselves, reassuring each other of their presence. Like they were shoring themselves up against a coming tide. They walked separately, coming together now and then and then drifting apart like waves on a shore. Shinji waited until one of them washed close to him.

 

“You seem anxious,” he whispered. Akira did not look at Shinji, eyes straight ahead.

 

“The court is our home,” he said. “But that does not mean it is safe for us there. Exiles are exiles, no matter how exalted their lineage.” Shinji wanted to ask more, but Yahaba squeezed his hand in warning. He blinked, looking closer at the unnameable expression on Akira’s face, and decided it was best to keep his mouth shut. Akira drifted back toward the other two as something loomed in the distance between the trees.

 

It was a palace like something out of a lavishly illustrated storybook, all white stones and elegant lines. They stepped out of the trees and into a courtyard bustling with creatures more fantastical than any Shinji had seen. All stopped what they were doing to watch the faerie princes leading a troop of humans toward the main gate. They walked together, Shiro-Kiyo-Akira, one soul in three bodies. Heads held high, shoulders thrown back, they marched up the front stairs like they were headed into battle. Shinji held a little tighter to Kunimi and Yahaba and picked up the pace.

 

Through the main doors was an entry hall that looked like it was carved from pure silver. Shinji barely had a moment to gawp at the intricate carvings, the walls dripping with jewels and fine fabrics and gleaming in the sunlight before the shouting of a peeved young woman tore into his thoughts like explosives.

 

He felt her coming long before he saw her. It was like the feeling of a storm rolling down the mountainside, or of the spark just before a flame. The doors at the top of the grand stairway flew open and an impossibly beautiful girlcame storming down the stairs, golden-brown hair and red-silver gown trailing behind her like a storm cloud. She marched right up to Kiyo and jabbed a finger at his face, glowering up at him.

 

“And just exactly _what_ do you think you’re doing?” she snarled. The other two princes took a step to each side, away from the pair.

 

“Good morning, little sister, you look especially radiant today,” tried Kiyo. Her glare grew more pointed.

 

“You three come waltzing in here with no warning whatsoever, trailing a pack of _humans_ like you’re tour guides, and all you have to say is _good morning_?”

 

“Karin, it wasn’t his decision.” Kiyo, Akira, and Karin all whirled to look at Shiro, expressions ranging from grateful to horrified to suspicious.

 

“And what,” snarled Karin, “do you mean by that?” Shiro looked afraid for the span of a heartbeat before his expression smoothed.

 

“One of the humans had my heart,” he said simply. “We tried to shake the rest along the way, but they’re a loyal bunch. Kiyo and Akira did their jobs at the gate exactly as they had been commanded.”

 

“Why on earth does a human have the heart?” Karin whirled around to drag her eyes along the team, pausing momentarily here and there. “That’s not all they have. Kiyo, why are they here?”

 

Iwaizumi stepped forward. He swept into a low and elegant bow and spoke to the floor. “We have come to find our captain,” he said softly. “And to bargain for his freedom.”

 

“Let me see your face,” she murmured. Iwaizumi complied, straightening up. He met her gaze evenly, shoulders back and head held high, and she seemed impressed. “The captain. He’s the floppy, pretty one who made the deal with Sakura and then didn’t keep his end, isn’t he?”

 

“That’s what I assumed,” Kiyo answered as Akira said, “Yes.”

 

“His fate is not for any of us to decide,” Karin murmured. She reared back, tossing her head and standing before them with all the power and gravity of her status. “It is my mother he has slighted, and it is she who will determine whether or not to hear your bargain.” She turned and swept up the stairs, followed by the three princes. The team followed, though Shinji wasn’t sure that any of them made the conscious decision to.

 

“What just happened?” asked Kindaichi in a low murmur that echoed around the hall nevertheless.

 

“Things are about to get much more dangerous,” Kyoutani answered him. He stared grimly ahead. “We’ve just won an audience with the queen of the Fair Court.

 

-

 

Issei was burning. Voices whispered in his mind, beautiful and terrible and so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. He felt at his throat for the chain he’d always worn there, but his fingers brushed against nothing but skin and the fabric of his shirt. There was nothing to protect him, nothing to help him block out the sound.

 

Fingers laced with his, long and calloused and as familiar as Issei’s own heartbeat. He glanced at Hanamaki, at the grimace on his face, and it soothed the anxious pounding of his heart. If Hanamaki could hear it too, it meant Issei wasn’t the only target. And if Issei wasn’t being targeted, then there was a way around it. He just had to keep himself calm and anchored.

 

It was what his uncle had always taught him, though now those lessons seemed trivial and half-formed. They had been meant for encountering faeries in the human world, not for standing in the middle of their court, waiting to meet their queen. All his defenses had turned to ash mere steps beyond the gate and now Issei was left with nothing but his wits and his teammates. It seemed like a poor offering against the magic and cunning that saturated these walls.

 

The throne room was every bit as opulent and fantastical as the entry hall had suggested. The three faerie princes stood in a line between the throne and the team, shoulder to shoulder. The princess stood to one side of the throne, watching them all. Issei felt like a mouse under that hawk’s gaze. Then a door opened to one side and Issei felt even smaller than a mouse as the faerie queen swept into the room.

 

She was dressed in light. There was no other way to describe it: her gown was made of pure sunlight and starlight and moonlight, woven together in gold-silver-blue splendor and draped across a woman even more splendid. She took her seat on the throne and inclined her head to her daughter, who stepped forward to whisper in her ear. The queen nodded and Karin stepped back.

 

“Two hundred years since the three of you were sent to that gate,” she said in a voice that Issei felt more than heard. “I believe your commission was for two thousand.”

 

Kiyo stepped forward and knelt, head bowed before the queen. “We intend to serve out the remainder of our commission, Mother,” he said. “But you know our nature. Where one goes we all must.”

 

“Indeed,” murmured the queen. “Shiro.”

 

Shiro moved to kneel beside Kiyo, and Akira mirrored him on the other side. “My queen,” he said. “I owed a debt, one that has now been discharged.” The queen considered him, considered all three of them, with a look in her eye that struck Issei as familiar and unknowable all at once. None of the princes moved, and it seemed the entire palace held its breath.

 

“What is done is done,” the queen sighed at last. “Let us see these humans you have brought.”

 

The princes stepped to one side, standing in a line against the wall. Iwaizumi stepped forward and bowed to the queen, and Issei stepped into place beside him. The hall filled with the rustling of clothes and the sighing of human breath as the rest of the team did the same. They waited.

 

The queen’s gaze was a heavy thing, resting on each one of them in turn and scrutinizing their very beings. The whispers in Issei’s head grew louder as she paused on him, taunting him. _Faerie killer,_ they cried. _Fruit of a poisoned tree. See how he trembles? See how he longs to run away? See how he dreams of the dance?_ All at once images flooded Issei’s mind, of the dancing ring and the wonder he’d experienced while caught in its thrall. They were horrible, and yet his soul ached for them. He grit his teeth and ignored them harder. It almost worked, but Issei was sweating by the time the queen moved on.

 

“Well,” she said at long last. “Truly, a troop of knights has found their way into my court. And what is it you seek within these halls?”

 

“Your majesty,” Iwaizumi said, bowing deeper. “We’ve come to make a bargain. Our friend, our captain, has found himself in your debt and at your mercies, and we humbly request the opportunity to barter for his release.” The queen’s eyes swept down the line again.

 

“Stand up,” she commanded. “I like to see the faces of those who come to trade with me.” She considered them each in turn again, but this time she did not linger. She had already seen their hearts; their faces were only of vague interest to her. Issei forced himself to meet her eyes and not look away, but as soon as she moved on he found he could not tell what color they had been. “You are very brave to have made it this far, and very loyal. If there is one thing I appreciate,” she glanced to the side at the three princes lined near the wall, “it is loyalty.”

 

“He has earned our loyalty,” Iwaizumi said. The queen hummed thoughtfully.

 

“The boy in question, he is the one who made a deal with Sakrua, is he not?” asked the queen. Karin stepped forward.

 

“He is, Mother,” she said. “He offered what he treasured most in exchange for the power to defeat his enemies. This power was promised, but the boy never held up his end of the bargain. Sakura took matters into her own hands and brought him here instead.” The queen’s eyes glinted.

 

“I see,” she breathed. “Very well, then. I am intrigued by your loyalty, especially to one so insipid as this boy. I am prepared to offer a deal.”

 

“You are most gracious, your Majesty,” said Iwaizumi, bowing shallowly.

 

“Since your captain failed to complete his task, perhaps each of you would complete one in his stead,” the queen said. “We have certain… chores around the court that need doing, in preparation for the arrival of a noble from our neighboring court in a few days.” Issei noticed the princess and three princes going stiff at her words, but he didn’t have time to contemplate what that could mean. “I will assign each of you one of these tasks, and if you complete them all by the time he arrives, you will be free to leave with your captain. That is my bargain.”

 

“What kind of tasks could your Majesty possibly require the feeble help of humans for?” asked Yahaba with a bow. “We would, of course, be grateful for this opportunity, but I fail to see how any of us could do worthy honor to a member of such a noble court.”

 

“Oh, they are merely housekeeping duties, nothing more,” said the queen, waving a hand through the air. Out of the corner of his eye, Issei could see Yahaba’s eyes narrow in suspicion for a moment before his face relaxed once more. “Karin.”

 

“Yes, Mother?”

 

“Show these humans and that trio over there to their quarters, and have the princes briefed on your cousin’s visit. I will send Hayato to sort out what tasks must be done in preparation.” Karin bowed to her mother and stepped down from the dais. She took off across the throne room and through a massive door, without waiting to see if anyone followed. Issei could all but feel the bemusement from the princes as they trailed after her.

 

As Issei walked between Iwaizumi and Yahaba, he couldn’t help but watch the princes. Akira was closest to them, and there was a tension in his shoulders that surely had to do with something more than the scolding the queen had just handed out. Whoever this noble was, Issei wasn’t sure he wanted to be around when he arrived.

 

-

 

Karin showed them to a large room walled on one side entirely with windows. There were cushions scattered on the floor, lush and comfortable looking, and a table against one wall that was laden with food. Issei’s mouth watered and he turned away.

 

“Please, make yourselves at ease,” Karin said sweetly, a glint of steel in her eyes. “I will return with Hayato once my mother has decided what your duties will be.” With that, she turned and swept out the door once more. Issei closed his eyes and leaned lightly against Iwaizumi, just to feel the way he pressed into the touch.

 

“Well,” said Hanamaki, throwing himself onto a pillow. “We’re in for it now.”

 

“What do you think she’ll have us do?” asked Kindaichi. He looked rapidly between Issei and Kyoutani.

 

“They will be impossible,” said Kyoutani with a sigh. He skirted the table and made his way over to the window-wall to look at the world below. They were somewhere high up, and Issei figured on the western side of the palace. “I’ve heard stories of sorting a mountain of grain and sand, hunting a creature that does not exist, digging a well with a teaspoon. Usually in the stories they’re either solved through magical help or great cunning, or else the victim gives up and dies of despair.”

 

“Cheery,” droned Hanamaki. “I’ve always wanted to drop dead of some emotion in a magical castle.”

 

“Makki, shut the fuck up,” growled Iwaizumi. Issei wrapped an arm around his waist and Iwaizumi slumped into him.

 

“Hey,” Hanamaki murmured. He patted the cushion beside him and Issei dragged them both over. Hanamaki curled into Iwaizumi’s free side. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

 

“I want to see him,” Iwaizumi whispered. “But I know better than to ask.”

 

“They’ll probably show him to us when it’ll most fuck with our heads.” Issei shot Kyoutani a glare and got a shrug in return. “S’true. They’ll either wait until our hopes are high and then show him to us ruined, or they’ll wait until we’ve given up and show him to us whole. It’s a game.”

 

“His life is not a game,” growled Iwaizumi. Kyoutani looked at him, not quite with pity and not quite with challenge, but something somewhere between the two. Iwaizumi slumped. “I just want to know that he’s okay.”

 

“We haven’t officially made the deal,” Watari pointed out. “We can make that a stipulation, that we have to have viable proof that he is unharmed until we either lose the bargain or take him home.”

 

“Do you think that will work?” asked Yahaba.

 

“Probably,” rumbled Kyoutani. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall-window. “We have to be careful about how we ask, though.”

 

“Were we not giving him enough attention?” asked Hanamaki, and despite everything, something about his tone made Issei want to laugh. “Is that why he ran off? To find another family who pampers him more?”

 

“I don’t know how much pampering he’s getting,” Issei said. Iwaizumi was very still and very quiet between them.

 

“Do… Do you think that’s true?” he whispered. Hanamaki shook his head and Issei tightened his hold on Iwaizumi.

 

“The captain made this choice on his own,” Kunimi said. “It was his selfish decision, and not anyone here’s fault.”

 

Kindaichi frowned at Kunimi. “Ku-”

 

“MIMICHI!” blurted Hanamaki. Kunimi stared at Hanamaki, incredulous and murderous, but Hanamaki was looking at the door. It opened the rest of the way and in came Karin, followed by an obnoxiously beautiful butler.

 

“Forgive my intrusion,” Karin said, and the uptick of her lips indicated that she had appeared when she did for a reason. “We have come to make the bargain. If you will follow us.” She turned again and left the door open, waiting for them to follow. Issei dragged Iwaizumi to his feet and led the way out of the room.

 

“ _Mimichi_?” hissed a voice behind him, and Hanamaki chuckled. “You are no longer my favorite senpai,” Kunimi snarled.

 

“I can live with that,” Hanamaki replied, “as long as you’re safe.”

 

Kunimi didn’t answer.

 

-

 

Yuutarou knew he was the weak link in the Seijoh chain. He was the insecure one, the self-deprecating one, the one who could be most easily goaded into something incredibly stupid. It was only a matter of time before the faeries picked up on that.

 

As they stood before the faerie queen, he felt more useless than he had in a long time - not since he was still living under the weight of Kageyama’s tyranny. He wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or not when none of the faeries seemed to take any notice of him.

 

“Ah, yes, the knights,” said the queen when they arrived, as though she had forgotten in the twenty minutes or so they had been in the window room. “We have decided what your tasks shall be, if you choose to make this bargain.”

 

“I believe we will come to an easy accord,” Iwaizumi said with a bob of his head. “Of course, for the sake of fairness, should we take on your challenges we would require some proof of our captain’s wellbeing throughout the duration of our stay here.” The queen smiled.

 

“Of course,” she said. “It is only right that you should want some proof, after coming all this way. Karin, please have Sakura bring the human captain.”

 

“Yes, Mother.” There was something strange in Karin’s voice, and a tension to her shoulders.

 

“Now,” said the queen, turning back to the team. “There is the matter of what tasks you must do. As I said before, they are largely housekeeping duties, preparations for the impending visit of a noble with ties to my family. His presence in this court requires all due preparations. He shall arrive in eight days, giving each of you one day to complete your task. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

 

“I am sure your terms will be agreeable,” Iwaizumi said. He went to say more, but before he could speak a pair of doors somewhere behind the throne opened and Karin emerged with a faerie Yuutarou could vaguely remember seeing around Seijoh, and Oikawa.

 

Yuutarou hadn’t realized just how worried he was for his captain until he was there, just across the room. He was limping, just slightly worse than he would after a long, hard practice. His hair was mussed and there were dark shadows under his eyes, but he was whole and alert. He looked up tiredly, and froze when he saw the team.

 

“Wha-” he cut off, looking around the room. Biting his lip, he stared at Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi looked back, the same charged air as always passing between them. All the worry, all the terror of this place, all the loyalty of their years of friendship hung between them in that moment.

 

“Are you satisfied?” asked the queen. Iwaizumi stared at Oikawa for a moment longer, then turned back to the queen.

 

“So long as he remains well and whole,” Iwaizumi said, “we are.”

 

“Then we have an agreement.” Oikawa jerked, looking at the queen and then back at the team.

 

“You didn’t,” he whispered. Iwaizumi glanced at him but didn’t answer. “Iwa-chan, you didn’t! Iwa-chan!”

 

“Sakura, take him back to his quarters,” said the queen. Oikawa resisted, but the faerie girl was too strong for him. No matter how he tugged at her grip, straining toward them, eyes locked on Iwaizumi, he could not break free. She took Oikawa by the arm and pulled him away, disappearing through the door once more. It closed behind them with a dull thud that stabbed through Yuutarou’s very heart. For a moment, silence reigned in the throne room. Then the queen spoke again. “I have no tasks that you may complete today. You should retire to your quarters and take what rest you can for tonight. I will send for you at first light.” With that she stood and swept from the room.

 

“This way,” said Karin. Yuutarou had almost forgotten she was there. They followed her through the halls in silence, back to the window room. “That door leads to a washroom,” she said, pointing to a door that had not been there the first time. “In that closet you will find sleeping mats and blankets. If you need anything in the night, _please_ , do not hesitate to ask.” She smiled at that last, something slow and sinister, and then turned on her heel. She left the room with nothing but a whiff of pine and citrus to remember her by.

 

“Okay, so she’s not to be trusted,” commented Yahaba, leaning against a wall and glaring at the door.

 

“Are any of them?” snorted Kyoutani. There was a moment of stillness while they all silently agreed, then one by one they sank to the floor like flower petals. Yuutarou sat with his back to a wall and his knees pulled tight to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible. He looked out the window, at the tops of strange trees and the movement of foreign birds through branches. He could hear their song, unlike any birds he was familiar with, and homesickness stabbed through his heart.

 

“Hey.” Yuutarou shifted slightly in acknowledgment, and Kunimi pressed himself to Yuutarou’s side. “You okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” Yuutarou said with a grin. Kunimi pressed closer.

 

“You’re a shitty liar.” Yuutarou shrugged.

 

“You just know me too well.” Turning to Iwaizumi, he asked, “So what do we do now?”

 

Iwaizumi was staring out the window, and it took some time for him to turn back to the room. He looked at Yuutarou with an exhaustion in his eyes that went far beyond lack of sleep. “We keep vigil tonight, to see if it’s even safe to sleep here. And in the morning we find out what the first task is.”

 

“Did you notice how time is here?” Kyoutani asked. Matsukawa nodded and Iwaizumi grunted.

 

“What do you mean?” asked Watari.

 

“I mean that it’s not like at home. Look, the sun’s already setting, but it shouldn’t be any later than noon.” Kyoutani sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wall. “If we sleep, a hundred years could go by before we wake up. And if we stay awake, the night could stretch on for days. Or it could not. Who knows?”

 

“Kyoutani, come here.” Kyoutani glared in Matsukawa’s general direction before shuffling over. Matsukawa pulled him into his lap and settled his chin on top of Kyoutani’s head. “We’re gonna be fine,” he said.

 

“You of all people should know that’s not a guarantee,” Kyoutani growled.

 

Matsukawa tightened his hold on Kyoutani and buried his nose in his hair. “I of all people should know that humans who cross the fair court can survive. We just have to be clever.”

 

“I don’t know how clever I can be.” Yuutarou hadn’t meant to say it out loud, and as it was he wasn’t certain anyone other than Kunimi heard him. At least, not until Matsukawa started up an awkward half-shuffle half-scoot motion, wriggling his way toward Yuutarou with Kyoutani still secure in his lap. There was a lecherous gleam in his eyes and he waggled his eyebrows as he approached. Laughter bubbled in Yuutarou’s chest.

 

“No,” Yuutarou warned, pressing closer to Kunimi. Matsukawa continued shuffle-scooting closer. “Mattsun-san, no!”

 

“Let me love you,” Matsukawa cooed, finally close enough to reach out and hook an arm around Yuutarou’s side. He tugged him close and nuzzled into Yuutarou’s hair. “You’re gonna be just fine,” he murmured as the team laughed around them, quietly enough that Yuutarou was the only one who heard. “You’re better than you realize.”

 

Yuutarou didn’t answer. He shifted so that he wasn’t hunched uncomfortably and so that Kunimi could flop against him once more. He pinched the back of Kunimi’s neck to make sure he was still awake, and settled in to watch the stars appear through the window.

 

There was something about them that reminded Yuutarou just how far he was from home. They burned too brightly, too close to the earth. They were too colorful, like jewels in the sky. And try as he might, Yuutarou couldn’t make out any familiar constellations. They seemed to glint and move, shapes taking flight and wheeling across the dark canvas of the sky. He watched them for a moment, stomach swooping with unease. He turned away, tucking his face into Kunimi’s shoulder.

 

“Any guesses what the first task will be?” Kunimi yawned. “Or who’ll do it?”

 

“I just hope it’s not anything to do with heights,” mumbled Iwaizumi.

 

“You do realize that now you’re gonna have to do something up high, right?” asked Hanamaki. “You just cursed yourself.”

 

“I know,” Iwaizumi sighed. There was something that went beyond exhaustion draped across his shoulders and tugging at the corners of his expression. Yuutarou had never seen him looking so tired. The whole team had the same haunted look in their eyes, the same slump to their spines and droop to their spirits. Depression settled across the room like a heavy blanket.

 

“Watachin-san,” said Yuutarou suddenly. Watari blinked and looked up at him, eyes tired and movements sluggish. “What did one ocean say to the other?”

 

“…What are you talking about?” Watari slurred.

 

“What did one ocean say to the other?”

 

“What?” Watari looked more alert now, and some of the others were looking at Yuutarou as well.

 

“Nothing,” he said. “They just waved.”

 

The room was dead silent for a moment. Watari stared at Yuutarou, uncomprehending. Then he snorted.

 

“That is the worst joke I’ve ever heard,” he said. Yuutarou grinned at him.

 

“How do you kill a vegetarian vampire?” he asked.

 

Watari shook his head. “Oh my god, how?”

 

“With a steak to the heart.” Watari snorted again, and Yuutarou was pretty sure he heard Kunimi chuckle. “What kind of shoes do ninjas wear?”

 

“If we don’t answer you will you shut up?” Yahaba snapped, but Yuutarou could see the way his eyes crinkled up like he was trying not to smile.

 

“Nope. What kind of shoes do ninjas wear?”

 

“What kind?” rumbled Matsukawa.

 

“Sneakers.”

 

It took a second, but this time his joke was met with genuine laughter. It dissolved into quiet conversations scattered around the room. Matsukawa shuffle-scooted away with Kyoutani to go pester Yahaba about something and Kunimi allowed Watari to draw him into a debate over whether the stars outside were the same as the ones at home or not. Hanamaki dug a book out of his bag and settled against the window-wall to read. Yuutarou leaned against the wall and watched his team with a smile.

 

He didn’t notice Iwaizumi approaching until he nudged him in the shoulder with a quiet “Hey.”

 

“H-hey,” Yuutarou stuttered. Iwaizumi gave him a half-smile and bumped their shoulders together.

 

“I know what you just did,” he said. “Thank you.”

 

“Oh, I didn’t, I-” Iwaizumi cut him off with a look. He took a long, deep breath and leaned against Yuutarou’s shoulder.

 

“I’m not very good at this leader stuff,” he said. Before Yuutarou’s protest could pass his lips, Iwaizumi continued, “I’m meant to be a second-in-command. Hanger’s the one who draws people together and inspires them. I don’t know how to do it like he does.”

 

“I think you’re selling yourself short,” Yuutarou said. Iwaizumi snorted.

 

“If it were me who was stupid enough to end up here, I don’t think you would have been as quick to come after me.” He said it simply, like it was a fact recited from a textbook. Yuutarou shook his head.

 

“You haven’t been paying attention then,” he said. “We would all follow wherever you lead. Besides…” He looked around the room, and his team and the way they flopped all over each other and made each other laugh and shoved at each other and pulled each other close. He couldn’t help but smile. “I think that this would have happened no matter who was taken. That’s what a family does.”

 

-

 

Akira would never have made it through the night if it hadn’t been for Kyoutani and Kindaichi. Every time he drifted off, one of them would pinch or nudge or otherwise engage him, keeping him awake and focused. As the sun rose slowly, illuminating the courtyard below the window-wall, Akira wondered just how long it had been since he’d last slept. He wondered if any time had passed at all in the human world. He was laying between Kindaichi’s legs, his back propped on Kindaichi’s stomach, playing with his hands. He tangled his fingers with Kindaichi’s longer, rougher ones, thinking about how he knew them as well as he knew his own.

 

There was a soft knock at the door and Karin came in, looking as pristine and otherworldly as she always had. Her gaze swept around the room, vaguely disappointed under her plastered-on smile.

 

“I hope that your night was restful, knights,” she said sweetly. “May I bring you any refreshments before I present you to my mother?”

 

“I’m sure a princess such as yourself doesn’t need to do something so menial as serve a bunch of humans,” said Yahaba with a charming smile. She shot him back an equally charming smile of her own and Akira’s stomach turned.

 

“Right this way then,” she said, and turned on her heel. Akira yawned as he climbed to his feet to follow her through the warren of the palace.

 

The queen was waiting for them as they filed into the room, this time dressed in a gown made from a sea storm. She stood as they entered, watching them each with that gaze that held the universe. Karin stood by the throne, and ever-watchful sentry as the queen walked to one end of the line. She made her way down, scrutinizing each of them in turn, until at last she came to Akira at the opposite end.

 

“We’ll begin with you, shall we?” she asked with an oil-slick smile. He bowed and didn’t answer. “The first thing I require in preparation for the upcoming visit is a rope. Let’s say, about twice as long as that one is high.” She gestured to Kindaichi, who stiffened slightly. Akira brushed their knuckles together and nodded to the queen again. She turned and strode toward the door. “You have until dusk,” she said as she went. Just before the door, she paused and turned back to Akira. “Oh, and one more thing. This rope must be made of ash.” She smiled, and Akira smiled back, and she left.

 

“The palace is at your disposal as you complete your task,” said Karin. “Bring your rope back to this room when you have finished it, at dusk. Oh, and, try not to get lost.” She said this last with a wink and a smirk, and then swept through the door.

 

Without any faeries in it, the throne room felt considerably less oppressive. It was still a fantastical place, but it no longer felt like it wanted nothing more than to swallow them all alive. Akira wandered over to a window and looked out.

 

“Any ideas?” Iwaizumi asked, coming to stand beside him. Akira nodded and pointed to a wood-roofed building just barely visible.

 

“The stables,” he said. “I need to find a way to get to the stables.” Iwaizumi squinted at the building and nodded slowly.

 

“What do you think?” he asked. “Do we split up or stay together?”

 

Akira thought for a moment. There was no real reason why they had to be together. It wasn’t like any of them could be lost to the forest while they were inside the palace. And the queen needed these tasks done, so as long as Akira hadn’t failed his yet, it was in her best interest to keep them all alive and well. But on the other hand, the palace was full of so many ways to get in trouble. It would only be a matter of time before someone did something stupid, and that stupidity would be considerably more difficult to counter if it was done in isolation. “I think it would be best to stay together,” Akira said at last. “At least for now.” Iwaizumi nodded.

 

“I was thinking the same thing,” he said. Clapping Akira on the shoulder, he turned to face the others. “Now, do I have to make you all hold hands like a line of ducklings, or can I trust you not to get distracted and wander off?” Hanamaki promptly grabbed Matsukawa and Yahaba’s hands, smiling sweetly. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and set off across the throne room. Matsukawa held out his hand to Akira with a waggle of his eyebrows. Akira rolled his eyes and took it, following Iwaizumi out the door.

 

The palace had been massive and intimidating when they had first arrived, but now it was so much worse. The corridors were a warren of twists and turns, and Akira knew they would end up lost forever in its passageways. There were three corridors leading off of the entrance hall, each as unknowable as the last. Torchlight danced on the carved silver walls, throwing rainbows as it bounced off jewels and dazzling Akira’s eyes. He stood beside Iwaizumi and considered.

 

“Door?” Iwaizumi glanced around, then nodded.

 

“Door,” he agreed.

 

“Door,” added Hanamaki, nodding sagely. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and marched across the hall and through the massive door there. “Seriously, though, I’m not the only one who noticed that there was no conversation there, right?”

 

“You say that like it hasn’t happened before,” Watari said. “They always talk like that.”

 

“They’re intelligent enough to get the point across without too many words,” Akira droned without looking back. Several snickers broke out behind him and he smirked to himself as they stepped out into the courtyard in front of the palace.

 

“So that building you saw was on the north eastern side of the palace, right?” Iwaizumi asked. Akira shrugged. “I think we just came out of the southern door, so let’s just walk around this way until we find it.”

 

“Oh yeah, that sounds like a foolproof plan,” muttered Matsukawa. Iwaizumi ignored him and started down the steps of the palace, angling for a doorway in the courtyard to their left. Akira shrugged and followed him once more.

 

The palace grounds were just as beautiful and convoluted as the inside. Akira lost track of how many gardens and courtyards and baileys they walked through, too busy trying to keep their path fairly straight. The walls here were just as intricately carved as the ones inside, but their tops were patrolled by armored faeries carrying blades and bows. There was a charged air about the entire place, like preparations for a siege. Akira wondered, not for the first time, just who this visiting noble was.

 

They had been wandering for some time, making their way around the perimeter of the palace, when a familiar face stopped them all short. There, just across a narrow garden path, staring at them all in shock, was Karasuno’s reserve setter. He was even more delicately pretty than Akira had ever seen him before, dressed in dove grey silks and glowing in the morning light. He blinked at them, then smiled sheepishly.

 

“When the Princess mentioned a group of humans here for their captain, I was really hoping it wouldn’t be someone I knew,” he said.

 

“You’re from Karasuno,” Iwaizumi said blankly. He narrowed his eyes. “Su… something.”

 

“Sugawara,” he said. “Yeah.”

 

“Fucking called it,” muttered Matsukawa, and Sugawara laughed. It was bright and golden and it made a part of Akira wonder what he could do to make it happen again.

 

“I didn’t realize the rumors made it all the way to Seijoh,” said Sugawara with a blush.

 

“No rumors, just intuition,” said Matsukawa. “You’re too pretty to be human, after all.” Sugawara’s blush deepened, and Akira felt his own cheeks heat in answer.

 

“Oh, I shouldn’t be keeping you,” Sugawara said suddenly. “You’re supposed to be doing something for the queen, aren’t you?”

 

“Ah, yes,” said Iwaizumi. He blinked at Sugawara, something dreamy in his eyes. “We were… where were we heading, Mimichi?” Suga gave a knowing smile, one that faded rapidly into confusion.

 

“The stables,” Akira replied, and Sugawara’s gaze zeroed in on him. His eyebrow furrowed, and then a sharp and dangerous smile stretched across his face. Something about that smile made Akira pause and consider just how much Sugawara would know about each of them. Kageyama was on his team, so it was possible he knew Akira’s real name, and that could make him deadly. “We need straw for Her Majesty’s task.”

 

“Oh, well in that case you’re headed entirely the wrong direction,” Sugawara said. “I can show you where it is, it’s on my way.” That was the last thing Akira wanted, but he couldn’t think of a way to warn anyone else without Sugawara hearing. So, in spite of his misgivings, he followed along with the others as Sugawara led them back the way they had come.

 

The stables were to one side of the third or fourth courtyard they’d gone through, sitting plain and benign like they had always been there. Akira knew for a fact that when they had first come this way, there had been nothing there but a fountain and a bench. He shook his head quietly and followed Sugawara inside.

 

“Kazue,” called Sugawara cheerfully. “Where are you hiding?”

 

An elf girl, as stunningly beautiful as all the others, with long red-brown hair and rich brown skin, stepped out of one of the stalls. She rolled her eyes at Sugawara and said, “Don’t you have duties to be seeing to inside the castle, My Lord?”

 

“Oh, I do,” said Sugawara, flapping a hand dismissively. “But first I wanted to see that the queen’s guests had what they needed for the day. It was straw, wasn’t it, _Mimichi_?”

 

Akira it the inside of his cheek and nodded quietly. Sugawara beamed at him, and then at the stable girl, who rolled her eyes.

 

“I’ll see to it that they have all the straw they need,” she said. “Now shoo, My Lord, you’re riling the horses.” Sugawara grinned and dropped an obnoxious bow before ducking out of the stables and disappearing. Akira watched him go, wondering what the point of that exchange had been. Before he could think on it too long, he was pulled away by Kazue ordering him brusquely to follow her.

 

She led him down an aisle between the stalls, toward the far end of the stable. Shapes moved in the darkness, large and indistinct and vaguely threatening and wonderful. Here and there Akira could see glimpses of too many eyes or hide a fantastical color or horns or wings, but never enough to put together a complete picture. He wondered if he would even be able to comprehend if he did see. Kazue stopped at the very last stall in the row and Akira pushed it from his mind, looking at the straw heaped to the ceiling inside.

 

“If you require more, call for me and I will come,” she said. Akira bowed shallowly and she left, drawing the attention of the creatures in the stalls as she went.

 

“Not to be a naysayer,” said Hanamaki, considering the mountain of straw with his head cocked to one side, “but didn’t the queen ask for a rope made of _ash_ , not straw?”

 

“It’ll work,” Akira said, stepping forward. “It just needs to hold its shape.”

 

“If you say so,” Hanamaki muttered. Akira shrugged as he started picking out the longest pieces he could find.

 

“I don’t think any of you can help me with this,” he said, hesitating.

 

“We won’t go far,” Iwaizumi assured him. “I’ll make sure no one leaves the courtyard.”

 

Akira nodded. “I’ll let you know when I need Shallot-kun to measure it,” he said. Iwaizumi nodded, then smiled, then set off to stop Kyoutani from reaching into one of the stalls. Akira watched them scatter for a moment before he sat down in front of the stall and set to work.


	3. Chapter 3

Yuutarou had been warned - firmly - against wandering off. By three different senpai. So of course, as soon as no one had been watching, he had wandered off.

 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to stay with the group. He had honestly looked for something to interest him around the stables. He had poked around the stalls with Kyoutani, looking at the many-eyed creatures housed there. He had laid on his back in the grass with Matsukawa, watching the strange patterns the clouds made. He had gone hunting for pretty pebbles with Yahaba. He had done everything he could think of to keep his interest, but it had all failed. He had wandered around the edges of the courtyard, hoping to distract himself by counting the number of steps it took to trace its perimeter. Somehow, he had ended up in another courtyard altogether. As he looked around for the way back, someone tapped his shoulder.

 

"Excuse me, young lad, but you don't seem like you're from around here." Yuutarou turned to see a sweet-looking older woman, a glint in her eye and a warmth to her cheeks that reminded Yuutarou of his great aunt. He smiled and shook his head.

 

"I'm a visitor, ma'am, here working for the queen," he said. the woman nodded sagely.

 

"Well, Mister Visitor," she said with a smile, "perhaps you have the time to hear on old woman's story?"

 

Yuutarou glanced over his shoulder. "I would be honored to listen," he said, "but I'm afraid the rest of my team will be missing me. I should get back to them."

 

"Oh, it will only take a moment," the woman insisted. "And it's so rare I get anyone who's willing to listen to me anymore." She sounded so sad, so desperate for anyone's attention. Yuutarou knew he shouldn't, but he found himself smiling and nodding anyway. She beamed at him and gripped his wrist, dragging him away. Her grip was tight, tighter than eh would have expected from her, and she shoved him down onto a low bench with cheerful force. "Now, then," she said, settling herself on the bench across from him. "What story should I tell? Any ideas?"

 

"I'm sure any story would be new to me," he said. "I would love to hear whatever it pleases you to tell." She smiled, nodding in approval, and he relaxed somewhat.

 

“Well, then," she said. "Perhaps the tale of the fox prince. It's a relatively new one, only a scant few centuries old, but oh so fitting to recent happenings in the palace. I don't normally bother with such young things, but today I will make an exception."

 

She settled into her bench, her face going smooth and ancient and her eyes focusing on something very far away. Yuutarou leaned forward, already entranced. "In the ancient times," she said, "there were three great kingdoms. Though separated by culture and creed, they lived in relative harmony, and every citizen knew peace. Then, one day, the queen of one of the kingdoms fell gravely ill. She called to her side her only son, as well as her sister's child whom she had raised as her own following his mother's death. 'My dear boys,' said she, 'the time is coming for me to leave this world and journey to the next. But I shall not leave the kingdom bereft, for in my place the two of you will lead the people.' To her son, she said, 'You will be the people's prince, guiding them through all their trials. And you, my nephew,' she said, turning to the other, 'will guide your cousin through his own trials. In this way the kingdom and each of you will continue to know peace.’

 

“But this peace was not to be. For not long after the queen died, her son was crowned the prince-ruler of the kingdom. As he was still a boy and too young to rule on his own, his cousin became his adviser and regent. The prince followed his cousin’s lead in all things, for in his eyes the man was wise and just. He was blinded by his affection, unable to see the darkness in his cousin, the darkness that had led him to poison the late queen in a cruel bid for power. Now, in the neighboring kingdom, there lived two princes of an age with our hero. These princes were-”

 

“Mai-san,” interrupted a voice. The voice’s shadow fell over Yuutarou and he squinted up in surprise at the other Akira, the faerie prince. He scowled down at the old woman. “I believe orders were given that the queen’s guests be left to attend to their duties unaccosted,” he said.

 

The woman flapped a hand at the prince, scoffing. “This one was doing no task,” she said.

 

“Regardless, he is not to be toyed with,” he said. “And you of all people should know better than to tell stories to which you do not know the ending.” The woman opened her mouth to argue, then clearly thought better of it, bowing her head. Akira nodded firmly, then turned to Yuutarou with an apologetic smile. “Do you need help finding the others?” he asked.

 

“I- they’re at the stables,” Yuutarou said lamely. Akira nodded and gestured.

 

“If you go through that archway and then make an immediate right, you should find them without a problem,” he said. Yuutarou nodded and stood. Uncertain, he bowed to the old woman and Akira, then ducked around them. He could feel Akira’s eyes on his back as he went.

 

Just through the archway Akira had indicated, he noticed his shoelace undone. Frowning, he bent to retie it.

 

“I don’t see why you three are so defensive about those boys,” sniffed the old woman, though now that Yuutarou thought about it she didn’t sound so old. “They’re only humans.”

 

“Humans or no, I owe that one a debt,” Akira answered. He didn’t sound happy about it. “He saved Shiro’s life in the forest. Until Kiyo and I can balance that, the pointy one is not to be harmed.”

 

The woman said something that Yuutarou couldn’t hear. He finished tying his shoe and stood, looking around. Through an open gate to his right, he could see Yahaba lying with his head in Watari’s lap, tossing pebbles at Hanamaki. He shook his head and hurried to join them.

 

“There you are!” Watari cried. “Mimichi’s looking for you. He needs to see if his rope’s long enough.” Yuutarou pushed the encounter with the prince from his mind and entered the stable. Kyoutani was inside one of the stalls, cooing at the eight-legged horror beast inside while Matsukawa stood at the door, shaking his head at him. Iwaizumi was curled up on a pile of saddle blankets nearby, dozing lightly. Yuutarou stepped carefully over him and made his way down to the stall at the very end, where Kunimi was still braiding straw.

 

“How do you even know how to do that?” Yuutarou asked, sitting next to him. Kunimi shrugged.

 

“Watachin’s aunt taught me,” he said. “Of course, that was just for charms, never anything like this, but.” He shrugged. Yuutarou looked more closely at his work, and frowned.

 

“Your hands,” he sighed. Kunimi’s fingers were red and swollen, covered here and there with tiny cuts and scrapes. He shrugged.

 

“Lay down,” he murmured. “I need to see if this is long enough.” Yuutarou obeyed, holding one end of the rope near his head while Kunimi drew its length down to his feet and folded it in on itself.

 

“I don’t get how this is a rope made of ash,” Yuutarou commented as Kunimi frowned and started adding more straw.

 

“You’ll see,” he muttered. Yuutarou thought about rolling his eyes, but it was really too much work. He listened to Kunimi finish off his rope, to Matsukawa teasing Kyoutani, to Iwaizumi’s light snores and the sounds of living things shuffling around in their stalls.

 

“We’re gonna make it home, right?” he asked softly.

 

“Why do you ask?” Yuutarou shrugged. He thought of the old woman’s story, and the way the prince had pulled him away. He wondered what the rest of the story had been.

 

“Just insecure,” he said. The sounds of Kunimi’s work paused then started up again.

 

“We’ll make it home,” he said, voice certain. “All of us. And then I’m taking a week-long nap.”

 

“I think that’s a bit more than a nap,” Yuutarou commented.

 

“Whatever. Help me carry this.” Yuutarou pulled himself to his feet and helped Kunimi gather the rope up. Matsukawa shook Iwaizumi awake and Kyoutani said goodbye to his horror beast friend and they shuffled down the aisle together. Kazue, the stable girl who had scolded Sugawara, was waiting for them at the entrance to the stable. The sun was just beginning to set.

 

“This way,” she said tersely, setting off across the courtyard without waiting to see if any of them were following. Kunimi grumbled something under his breath and readjusted his grip on the rope as he followed her. She led them through a door that Yuutarou had not noticed before, up a narrow flight of stairs, and into the entrance hall. She gestured to the throne room then turned on her heel and disappeared the way she had come. Kunimi took a deep breath and Yuutarou nudged him with an elbow.

 

“You ready?” he asked.

 

“Let’s hope so,” Akira muttered, and mounted the stairs.

 

The queen entered the throne room just as they did, coming through the door behind the throne with her daughter and stopping on the dais to look down her nose at them. Kunimi tossed the rope to the floor, letting it unravel from its coil and spread out. She looked from it to him, and sneered.

 

“I believe,” she said sweetly, that the request was for a rope made of _ash_.” Yuutarou’s heart thudded to a stop.

 

Kunimi didn’t say a word, just walked over to a torch set in a bracket on one wall. He hefted it from its holder and walked back to his rope. He lit the rope on fire, then returned the torch to its place and looked placidly up at the queen.

 

“Karin,” said the queen. The princess bowed and stepped down from the dais. As the rope burnt itself out, she picked up one end of the ash trail. It must have been the magic of the place, or of Karin herself, but the ashes maintained their braided shape. Karin coiled the rope around her arm and brought it to the queen with another bow. The queen took it and raised an eyebrow at Kunimi. “That was very clever, knight,” she said. “This will do nicely. You have passed the first test. I shall see you all in the morning to decide the second.” With that she swept from the room, taking the rope with her.

 

“Please follow me to your quarters,” Karin said petulantly. Yuutarou almost didn’t hear her, too busy staring at the place where the queen had disappeared. There was definitely no way he was going to be able to come up with something as brilliant as Kunimi had.

 

“Shallot head!” shouted Hanamaki, and Yuutarou started, realizing he was the last one in the room. He scrambled after the others, falling into the back of the line on the way back to their room. Karin left them with the same niceties she had the night before, though there was something considerably more displeased about her continence this time. When she left, a palpable tension faded along with her presence and Yuutarou slumped against a wall.

 

“That was genius,” he said to Kunimi. “How the hell’d you come up with that?”

 

Kunimi shrugged. “I heard it in a fairytale once,” he said. “I think Watachin’s aunt told it to me, that time she taught me to weave straw for charms.”

 

“Well, it was still amazing,” said Iwaizumi. He ruffled Kunimi’s hair with a tired smile. “Good work.” Kunimi almost smiled, knocking Iwaizumi away and sprawling on the floor.

 

“Since I did my part, that means I get to do nothing the rest of the week, right?” he grumbled.

 

“Not quite,” said Hanamaki. “Since you’ve proven you’re such a smart cookie, now you get to help us try and figure out what the next task will be.” Kunimi grumbled at the floor and Hanamaki laughed at him, and Yuutarou settled in for another night of exhaustion and anxiety.

 

-

 

Shinji was aware, in the grey world between waking and sleeping, of the team around him. His head was in Yahaba’s lap, Yahaba’s fingers stroking along his scalp as he debated various tasks and their solutions with Kyoutani. Iwaizumi argued with Hanamaki over something to do with cooking in the far corner. Kindaichi was humming. It felt safe here, and familiar, in the same atmosphere that had always existed during training camps and team slumber parties, but something was missing.

 

“I just wonder what the captain was thinking, going to them before he came to any of us,” Yahaba sighed, and the missing piece fell into place. Shinji cracked open an eye, and sure enough there was no Oikawa, sprawling across as much space as he could possibly occupy, no Oikawa whining at Iwaizumi or Kyoutani, no Oikawa whistling to himself or goading the team into a game of truth or dare or making sure everyone was aware of his presence in one way or another. There was no Oikawa, and that hurt more than Shinji could say. He sighed and rolled onto his back. Yahaba looked down at him with a question in his eyes and he shook his head. Yahaba’s fingers went back to their stroking-scratching-soothing motion, but it was a hesitant return, and that hurt even more than the Oikawa thing had. He didn’t regret telling Yahaba the truth, not really, but a part of him just wanted to go back to they way they had been before that night in the faerie clearing. Something had changed in their friendship, and it would take some time before they could move on. In the meantime, Shinji closed his eyes and leaned more firmly into Yahaba’s touch.

 

The sun rose slowly, turning the room blue then grey then pink before light streamed through the window-wall in full force. Shinji sat up, offering Yahaba a tired smile, and looked toward the door. The entire room seemed to be waiting for the moment when it would open and Karin would return to bring them to their fate.

 

When the door finally did open, they stood and followed Karin in a silent line. Oikawa was waiting there, hands folded placidly in front of himself, watching with that knife-sharp way of his, like he was trying to tell them something. He locked eyes with Iwaizumi for a long moment, and bit his lip. Then the queen entered and Oikawa was taken away once more.

 

Shinji watched the queen pace up and down the line, not quite anxious after Kunimi’s complete success. It wasn’t until she stopped in front of him that he considered that this task may not be so easily done.

 

“You, knight,” she said. “What is your name?”

 

“I am called Watachin, your Majesty,” he said with a bow. Her lips quirked up in a smirk that did not feel very amused to him.

 

“Watachin,” she said. “You will perform today’s task. You have until dusk to bring me proof of your doing.”

 

“What task would your Majesty have me perform?” Shinji asked. The queen tilted her head and looked down the line of her nose at him.

 

“You, I would have restore the sight of a blind man,” she said. “Once more, the palace is at your disposal. Until dusk.” He bowed, but she was already turning to go, taking Karin with her. As the door closed behind them Shinji thought he could see their heads bending toward one another and the edge of Karin’s frown.

 

“How the hell is he supposed to do _that_?” snapped Iwaizumi. He stared at the door, incredulous.

 

“There has to be a way, or else she wouldn’t have asked,” Kyoutani said. Iwaizumi glanced at him then went right back to staring at the door.

 

“I think-” Kindaichi shook his head and looked away.

 

“What do you think?” Kyoutani urged. Kindaichi eyed him warily, then shrugged.

 

“I’m probably wrong,” he said, “but I think there’s a reason behind each of the tasks.”  


“What do you mean?” asked Iwaizumi. Kindaichi’s cheeks pinkened and he stared at his feet.

 

“I overheard Akira - the prince with the blond hair? - talking to a woman in a courtyard yesterday. I don’t know, something about what he said made me think that what we’re supposed to be doing is important, somehow. Like it’s something the queen needs, desperately.”

 

“If that were true, she wouldn’t assign something she knew was impossible,” Matsukawa said.

 

“But what’s possible for her isn’t always for us,” Yahaba pointed out. Shinji listened to them toss the issue back and forth, turning it over and poking at it. He fingered the chain around his neck, feeling the weight of the pendant his grandmother had given him against his sternum. Kunimi had finished his task through logic. He had made something by making something else. Shinji didn’t think the same thing would work this time.

 

“I don’t think we’re going to figure it out here,” said Kyoutani. “She wouldn’t have given us the run of the castle if she could have avoided it. So maybe the answer is somewhere else.”

 

“Okay, so… exploring?” Shinji asked. “Do you think that’s a good idea? We all saw yesterday how easy it is to get lost here.”

 

“Maybe we’ll get lucky again and someone will help us out,” said Yahaba, though it sounded like he didn’t believe it either. Shinji shrugged, a little helplessly, and Yahaba sighed. “It’s up to you, Iwa-san,” he said, grimacing a little at the nickname. “You’re in charge here.”

 

“Watachin’s the one who has to do the task,” Iwaizumi said. He rubbed the back of his neck and closed his eyes. “If you think exploring the castle is the best idea then that’s what we’ll do.”

 

“I don’t think we all have to go, though,” Matsukawa said slowly. “There’s too much of a risk that someone will get lost.”

 

“So what, some of the team stays here?” Yahaba asked. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Separating us makes us vulnerable.”

 

“But if what Shallot-kun said was true, then no one is going to do anything to us until we’ve failed the queen’s test,” said Kyoutani. “She needs us around if we’re going to keep doing her errands.”

 

“I suppose you’re right,” Yahaba muttered.

 

“No one is asking you to stay here,” Shinji said, bumping against Yahaba’s shoulder. “No one’s dumb enough to. You’ll come with me.”

 

“Of course I’ll come with you,” Yahaba snapped, but he did seem mollified.

 

“I’ll go too,” Iwaizumi said. “Makki, Mattsun, you stay here with the rest. We’ll be back by dusk.” Kyoutani walked over to Shinji and stood at his side, opposite Yahaba, and raised an eyebrow at Iwaizumi. He crossed his arms and Iwaizumi huffed out a laugh. “Fine,” he said. “No one said you couldn’t come.”

 

“Aw, was Kyouken-chan worried about us?” Yahaba crooned. He leaned around Shinji to leer at Kyoutani, who only rolled his eyes and strode out of the throne room. Shinji scrambled to follow him, ignoring the chortling coming from his best friend.

 

In the entrance hall, Shinji looked between the unfamiliar corridors, uncertain. “What do you think?” he asked Iwaizumi, who shrugged. Yahaba glanced between them, then snorted and set off down a passage, seemingly at random. Shinji shrugged and followed him.

 

The walls changed color. Shinji wasn’t sure when he first noticed it, but the moment he did it felt like he had always known. They walked through a blue hallway into a green one into a purple one, spiraling slightly downward and getting warmer as they went.

 

“Think we’ll run into the kitchens?” Shinji asked idly. Yahaba stopped short and Shinji collided with his back.

 

“How’d you know?” he asked. Shinji blinked.

 

“Know what?” he asked, leaning up on his tiptoes to see over Yahaba’s shoulder. Sure enough, there was a massive kitchen, lined on one side with great stone ovens and open on the other to a courtyard. An enormous table ran down the center, intricately carved and heaped high with food in various states of preparation. “Lucky guess,” Shinji said with a shrug, stepping around Yahaba. “Let’s try that door.”

 

He could feel the others staring at him as he meandered through a doorway set near the line of ovens, but he ignored them. Something in his chest tugged him in that direction, so he went. It wasn’t like anyone else had any ideas, after all.

 

The doorway led to another hallway, this one light pink. Shinji trotted along, half-listening to the others following him. The tug in his chest pulled left, so he turned left. It pulled right and he turned right. There was an image in his mind, half-formed, of a room with shelves and a man at a table, and he moved toward it. Then as he passed a particular pair of doors, the tug disappeared and he skidded to a stop.

 

“Here,” he said, pushing the doors open with a smile. Yahaba tugged his sleeve and he paused, looking up at him. Yahaba shook his head and stepped in first, sweet smile plastered across his face and shoulders thrown back. Kyoutani and Iwaizumi followed him with the same wariness about them. Shinji followed, bewildered.

 

Inside the doors was a library, packed with shelves to the towering ceiling and stuffed with more books than Shinji had ever seen in one place. He grinned, trailing his fingertips across their spines and listening to the magic of the place whisper their names and contents to him. Yahaba was watching him with a warning frown on his face, but Shinji just grinned and kept wandering. He turned a corner away from the others, letting his feet take him where they would and breathing in the dust and magic of the place. He was so busy enjoying himself that he didn’t notice Shiro and Kiyo sitting at a table until he nearly tripped over one of Shiro’s feet.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said with a bow. “I didn’t notice you there.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” said Shiro with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He tucked his long legs closer to himself. Shinji’s hand went automatically to his grandmother’s pendant, and he paused.

 

“This is yours, isn’t it?” he asked, pulling it from around his neck. “I suppose I don’t really have any reason to hang on to it anymore.” He unclasped it and held it out to Shiro with a smile. Shiro’s brow furrowed and he leaned forward to take it from Shinji. As soon as the chain slipped from his fingers, the restless energy left him, and the library seemed considerably less familiar. Kiyo was watching him closely, looking like he was ready to leap into action at a moment’s notice. He relaxed somewhat when Shiro looked down at the stone and smiled.

 

“You are a strange human,” Shiro said slowly as he clasped the chain around his own neck. “Are you performing one of the queen’s tasks today?”

 

“Yes, though I have to admit this one has me stumped.” Shinji rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the shelves.

 

“What is the task?” asked Kiyo. He sounded utterly disinterested.

 

“I am to restore sight to a blind man,” Shinji answered with a sigh. “It probably seems so simple to your people, huh?”

 

“Simpler than you realize,” Kiyo said with a light laugh. “You’ve already completed it.” Shinji jumped and looked back at him.

 

“I don’t understand,” he said. Shiro smiled.

 

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I will be in the throne room at dusk to explain to Her Majesty. Your task is complete.” Shinji nodded slowly and, taking it as a dismissal, turned to find the others.

 

-

 

“I don’t get it,” Hajime said as they wandered through the halls. The easy confidence Watari had shown on the way to the library was gone, and now they were taking turns at random and hoping to find something familiar to point them back to the throne room. “He didn’t say anything else?”

 

“Nope,” Watari said with a shrug. “He just said he’d tell the queen my task was done. I don’t know if it was a trick, but honestly, I don’t have any other ideas. If the prince says I’ve done it, and promised to tell the queen I did, then I trust him. It’s not like he would lie outright.”

 

“That’s… true,” Kyoutani said. “But was it the tall one or the floppy one who said it?”

 

“It was both,” Watari answered. “The floppy one said that I’d done the task, and the tall one agreed and said he’d tell the queen.” Kyoutani seemed displeased.

 

“What’s up?” Hajime asked. Kyoutani glanced up at him, and shook his head.

 

“That pendant wasn’t what it seemed,” he said.

 

“Is anything?” grumbled Yahaba. Kyoutani shook his head again.

 

“No, I mean, when his grandmother first pulled it out of that box, I thought she had the entire universe on a chain. And then it won Watachin safe passage here, but he didn’t demand it back once we arrived like I thought he would. There’s something more going on here.”

 

“What did the other prince say, at the gate when he tried to kill us?” Yahaba mused. “Something about a heart.”

 

“I don’t remember the exact wording, but I think he called it Shiro’s heart,” said Hajime. “And it seemed important that they get it back for him. But you’re right, Kyouken, he didn’t demand it back in exchange for passage. Which means it had to be offered, or maybe that he’s not supposed to have it in the first place.”

 

“Have we stopped to consider why we’re doing all these chores?” asked Yahaba. They turned up a violet hallway that was disturbingly similar to one they had just left. “And there’s the way the princess and the princes reacted when the queen first mentioned someone coming to visit.”

 

“Plus Shallot-kun’s theory on why we’re all still alive,” Watari added. He turned up another hallway, this one pale green and lined on one side with mirrors. Hajime pointedly did not look into any of them.

 

“Do you have any idea where we are?” Kyoutani growled. Watari shrugged.

 

“Don’t look at me, dude, I didn’t know where we were on the way out either.” Kyoutani rolled his eyes.

 

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Hajime said. “I think I recognize that balcony.”

 

“How did we even end up on the third floor?” Yahaba groaned. Hajime ignored him and turned a corner. He shouted in triumph at the sight of stairs and turned to face the others.

 

“Our room is right over there,” he said proudly, pointing. The others looked at the door he’d indicated.

 

“Oh,” said Yahaba. “Okay then.” Hajime set off down the stairs, still grinning at his success.

 

The throne room was largely like they had left it, the team sitting in a clump near one wall. The only difference was that now Akira sat with them, grinning and making faces as he told some story. Kindaichi and Hanamaki both burst into laughter loud enough to wake Matsukawa. Kunimi didn’t stir.

 

“Oh, hey, they’re back!” cried Kindaichi, waving.

 

“Did you do the thing?” asked Matsukawa with a yawn. Hajime plopped down next to him and shrugged.

 

“Maybe,” he said.

 

“What do you mean, _maybe_?” asked Hanamaki. Hajime shrugged again.

 

“Watachin was _told_ he’d done the task, but we don’t see how.” Hajime yawned and leaned his head on Matsukawa’s arm.

 

“He did,” said Akira suddenly. Hajime looked up at him, but he was looking at Watari. He and Yahaba were standing by the window, talking quietly. “Her Majesty’s tasks have very specific purposes,” Akira said. “It is not the task itself, but rather the intention behind it that matters.”

 

“If you say so,” Hajime grumbled. “It all seems pretty pointless to me.”

 

“You lack context,” Akira said with a shrug. “Suffice it to say you have performed two important services to the court so far, and the completion of all tasks will be worth the release of your captain in the end.”

 

Hajime watched Akira for a moment, watched the way his soft brown eyes swirled with secrets he would never share with any of them, and wondered. A question rested on the tip of his tongue, but he asked another at the last second. “Can we trust this place? If we need to move about the palace again, can we trust that we will be able to find our way, and that we can do so without fear of harm?”

 

“In that context, you can trust me,” Akira said. “Kiyo and Shiro may be willing to help you, and Karin could probably be persuaded. There are one or two others who could offer help and not harm. But I would not act lightly. The court has been warned that you are not to be toyed with, but there are those who would ignore that warning, if they feel they have cause.”

 

“You are being very… forthcoming,” Hajime said.

 

“Does that worry you?” asked Akira.

 

“It surprises me,” Hajime said. Akira shrugged.

 

“It serves my interests,” he said. “I do not wish to see you fail.” Hajime nodded at that, and let his eyes slip closed. He listened to Akira and Kindaichi chatter and Hanamaki comment every now and then. Eventually, the sun began to drop into late afternoon, and Watari and Yahaba wandered over. Hajime drifted off somewhere in the middle of a story about a rabbit and a sword, falling into an uneasy sleep.

 

-

 

He couldn’t remember the day he met Oikawa, but he did remember the day he realized how important he was. It was summer, and they were six and seven years old and wearing matching yukata. It was some festival or other, and their mothers had fussed over them for what had felt like hours. They were finally old enough this year that they were allowed to wander the aisle of booths without their parents, but the fireworks would be starting soon and they were expected to be back at the meetup point before they did. And Hajime had no idea where Oikawa was.

 

He hadn’t meant to lose him, really. He’d tried really hard to keep track of him, to keep their hands linked in the press of the crowd, because he was seven now and Oikawa was still only six, so Hajime had to be the grownup. But then someone had bumped him and Oikawa had seen an alien plushie at some booth and run off, and Hajime hadn’t seen him since. Hajime pushed through the crowd, growing more and more worried as he went.

 

He was just about to give up in despair and go find his mom to help look when he caught sight of a clump of older boys, probably middle schoolers, crowded around something. Trepidation filled him as he made his way toward him, an instinct that would prove itself all too true.

 

“What’s going on?” he cried, shoving himself between the boys and the huddled, sobbing mess that was Oikawa. “Leave him alone!”

 

“What, are you gonna make us?” sneered one of the boys. He towered over Hajime, leering down at him with all the power and bulk that came with an extra four years. Hajime clenched his fists and shook his head.

 

“Leave him alone,” he repeated. The boy stepped forward, his friends laughing and shoving each other in anticipation, and Hajime braced himself for the blow.

 

It never came. When he opened his eyes, a man was standing in front of him, tall and elegant and wearing a mask shaped like a fox’s head. He looked strange, like he was standing in full sunlight though it had been dark for over an hour now. The older kids took off running at the sight of him.

 

“Are you okay?” asked the man in the fox mask. Hajime didn’t answer, just stepped closer to Oikawa as though to protect him from the man. He laughed, the sound bright and magical through the mask. With a jolt, Hajime realized this man was not human, and stepped closer to Oikawa again. The man laughed again and shook his head. “Be a little more careful in the future,” he said, then turned to go. He joined up with two other men, one in a mask shaped like a wolf and one like a cat, and slung his arms around them. People made way for them subconsciously as they walked through the festival, and Hajime had a feeling something important was happening. But then a sniffle from Oikawa drew his attention and he turned away.

 

“Are you hurt?” he asked. Oikawa shook his head.

 

“I tore my yukata,” he sobbed. “My mom’s gonna be so mad!” Hajime sighed and wrapped his arms around him for a moment, then let go.

 

“Trade with me,” he said, already taking his off. Oikawa stared up at him, face covered in snot and tears. “Hurry up, the fireworks are gonna start soon.”

 

They really were cutting it short, but by the time they traded yukatas and made their way back into the festival proper, Oikawa was still upset. Hajime still had a bit of festival money left, so he dragged Oikawa by the wrist over to the booth with the alien plushie. The scolding, over their tardiness and over the state of Hajime’s borrowed yukata, was more than worth it, if only for the happy light in Oikawa’s eyes when Hajime handed him the plushie.

 

Hajime decided right then and there that he would do whatever it took to make that happy light appear as often as possible.

 

Warmth and a gentle rocking motion pulled Hajime most of the way out of his dream. He peeled an eye open to see the silver-blue halls of the faerie palace sliding past, and to identify the owner of the arms carrying him along.

 

“If you’re awake enough to gawk, you’re awake enough to walk,” snipped Kunimi, even as he adjusted his grip and held Hajime closer.

 

“You can put me down anytime,” Hajime pointed out.

 

“I know,” Kunimi replied.

 

“What happened?” Hajime asked.

 

“Just like you said,” Kunimi said. “The tall prince came in and told the queen the task was done. Then she nodded and left, and the princes left, and now we’re going back to the room.”

 

“Did anyone explain?” Hajime asked.

 

“Does anyone explain anything here?”

 

“Touche.”

 

They arrived at their room and Kunimi dumped Hajime unceremoniously on the floor, earning him an offended cry from Kindaichi and a glare from Hajime. He shrugged and plopped down next to him, dropping his head on Hajime’s shoulder. “I say we sleep in shifts tonight,” he said. “Seems safe enough.”

 

“You and Iwa-chan sure proved that,” Hanamaki snickered. Hajime was too content, snuggling closer to Kunimi, to retort. He only half paid attention as the shifts were decided, focusing instead on the silk of Kunimi’s hair as he ran his fingers through it. One by one the team dropped off to sleep, until the only sounds left were even breaths and Kindaichi and Yahaba talking softly in the far corner. Hajime closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take him.

 

-

 

Shigeru twisted the feather around in his fingers, scowling. The queen had handed it to him and ordered he turn it into a peacock by dusk that night, and frankly he was more than a little annoyed by it.

 

He hadn’t even seen a peacock in person before, let alone since coming into the forest. This wasn’t even a peacock feather: she had plucked it from a dove before handing it to Shigeru with a beatific smile and disappearing through the door. Shigeru glanced out the window, at the bustle of tents and faeries, and hummed.

 

“Anyone fancy a trip to the market,” he said in the most obnoxious accent he could muster. Kyoutani threw a shoe in his general direction.

 

“I’ll go with you, senpai,” said Kindaichi. Shigeru nodded, eyes still on his feather.

 

“Wish us luck, then,” he said softly. Hooking his arm with Kindaichi’s and setting his jaw, he strode through the door with more confidence than he really felt.

 

“What’s the plan, senpai?” asked Kindaichi. Shigeru smiled at his eagerness.

 

“We’re going to trade a pebble for a diamond,” he said.

 

“What?” Shigeru dusted the feather under Kindaichi’s nose, laughing when his face scrunched up.

 

“We’re going to trade this feather for something a little more valuable, and then trade that for something a little _more_ valuable, and on and on until we, somehow, find a peacock.” Saying it out loud made it sound even more hopeless than it had been in his head, but Kindaichi nodded along nonetheless.

 

“So that’s why we’re going to that market?” he asked.

 

“Exactly. Someone there will have something we can use, I’m sure of it.” Kindaichi grinned, and Shigeru let it lift his mood, just a bit.

 

The cluster of tents _did_ turn out to be a market, much to Shigeru’s relief. He dragged Kindaichi up the center aisle, eyes darting darting around to look at all the curiosities for sale. As expected of a faerie market, there were priceless jewels scattered around like lentils, and things much more mysterious and much more powerful on display above them. Shigeru looked in each booth, hoping to see something he could _use_.

 

"Senpai." Kindaichi nudged him and nodded toward a particular booth at the end of the aisle. A woman was seated there, lounging in her chair as though it were a throne, and surveying her surroundings with an unimpressed stare. At her feet was the most beautiful bird Shigeru had ever seen. It was a snowy white, pristine and elegant, but its tail which trailed behind it like a bridal train was a wonder of color. Each feather was rimmed in gold, but Shigeru could recognize the eye pattern of a peacock in the shimmering greens and blues and reds and purples and colors he couldn't even name. He caught himself leaning toward it, his fingers itching to reach out and touch the feathers and see if it was real. He wanted nothing more than to have that bird, to take it for his own. With a jolt, he realized that it was both a trap and their solution.

 

"Okay," Shigeru breathed, a little shaky. "Okay. We found a peacock. Now we just gotta get something good enough to trade for it."

 

"Any ideas?" Shigeru snorted.

 

"I never have ideas, Shallot-kun. Only desperation and charm." He glanced up at Kindaichi with a smirk. "I learned it from the captain."

 

Before Kindaichi could do much more than blink in confusion, Shigeru dragged him up to a random tent and peered at the objects for sale. A tiny knife, no longer than his thumb, caught his eye, and he picked it up.

 

"That's a keen eye you've got there," said the eight-eyed man running the table. "That is the very same dagger used to poison Queen Himura, over five hundred years ago."

 

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that story," Shigeru said, tilting his head and blinking innocently up the man. Kindaichi did the same, but his innocent curiosity wasn't a facade the way Shigeru's was.

 

"Oh, it's a wonderful tale," said the man. "Still unfolding, if you ask some. A story of love and betrayal and the bonds of a family forged through nature rather than blood."

 

"Sounds thrilling," said Shigeru. The man smiled and plucked the knife from his hands.

 

"See, Prince Hibiki gave this dagger to the queen as a gift, saying he wanted to know she would be safe at all times. So the queen accepted it, and, testing its edge, found it deceptively sharp. It slit her thumb, and soon she grew very ill from the poison." The man smiled, turning the knife over in his hands. "They say the queen’s son placed a curse on the knife, or a blessing. I never could figure out which."

 

Shigeru peered at the dagger, just the right balance of curiosity and fear in his eyes. "How do you find out?" he asked.

 

The man smiled, holding out the dagger. "You live with it," he said. "It will either bring you to a grisly end, or to great fortune. There's only one way to find out?"

 

Shigeru took the dagger, turning it over. He bit his lip, slipping his hand into his pocket and trying to look reluctant. "I don't have much to trade," he said. "Just a single wish." The man smiled, his eight eyes glittering.

 

"A wish will do just nicely," he said. Shigeru pulled out his feather and set it on the table.

 

"In that case, I wish you well," he said, and turned and walked away from the table. The man and Kindaichi both sputtered as Shigeru hurried into the next aisle.

 

"I can't believe you just got away with that," Kindaichi hissed. Shigeru shook his head.

 

"It's gonna get harder from here," he said. He looked around the tables with a frown. "I need something pretty," he said.

 

"That's pretty," Kindaichi said. Shigeru looked where he indicated, then glanced down at his knife.

 

"I need something about half that pretty," he said. "We'll get that next."

 

They moved to the next aisle, where the tables were closer together and the shop owners even less human-looking. Shigeru paused in front of a collection of hand mirrors, considering.

 

"See anything you like, young human?" asked the shopkeeper. Shigeru glanced up at her face and dropped his eyes quickly so as to not get caught up in staring. He nodded.

 

"My sister had a mirror similar to this when I was a child," he said. "Not as fine, of course, but similar." the shopkeeper picked up the mirror in a long, eight-fingered hand and gave him what he supposed was her version of a smile.

 

"This mirror is full of history," she said, stroking it lovingly. "Many a soul has been trapped, staring into its depths." Kindaichi shivered and leaned back slightly. "It is very dear."

 

"I don't suppose you would part with it," Shigeru tried. The shopkeeper hummed.

 

"I would," she said, "but the price must be steep." Shigeru nodded.

 

"What do you think?" he asked, turning to Kindaichi and hoping he caught on. Kindaichi's eyes widened.

 

"I don't think so," he said. "It's all we have."

 

"But..." Shigeru trailed off and looked at the mirror. He sighed. "Maybe you're right," he whispered sadly. He turned to go.

 

"Wait," called the shopkeeper. "What is it you are so unwilling to part with?"

 

"Oh, I don't- We shouldn't," Shigeru simpered. The faerie gave him a look, and he bit his lip, pulling the dagger out of his pocket. "It is vengeance," he said simply. "Revenge for a loved one in ruins." The woman purred, leaning closer. Shigeru held out the dagger for her to see and her head tilted.

 

"It is a difficult trade," she said, "but it will suffice." Shigeru bowed and traded the dagger for the mirror. He slid into his pocket and dragged Kindaichi back to the previous aisle.

 

"One more," he said softly. "Good job back there, by the way."

 

"I think I might pass out, please don't ask me to do that again," Kindaichi said in a rush. Shigeru laughed.

 

"Don't worry," he said. "I'll do the talking here." He stepped up to the booth where the comb Kindaichi had pointed out glinted in the sun. The shopkeeper walked up with a smile that Shigeru returned tenfold. "Good morning," he said sweetly. "I'd like to trade for this comb."

 

"And what do you bring to trade?" the shopkeeper didn't so much speak as think the question directly into Shigeru's mind. He smiled and tucked away the hope that this would work.

 

"Possibility," he said. "The opportunity to see absolutely anything. The ability to witness the truth." He didn't bother seeming uncertain or innocent this time. He had to sell it so sell it he did.

 

"Very well," thought the shopkeeper, gesturing for Shigeru to reveal his possibility. Shigeru drew the mirror out of his pocket as Kindaichi took the comb, and they made the trade. Shigeru bowed, smiling, and this time the shopkeeper smiled back. "Clever," they thought, and Shigeru inclined his head in acknowledgment.

 

"I wish you well," he said softly, and turned to walk away.

 

"So far so good," said Kindaichi as they made their way back to the beginning of the market.

 

"For now," Shigeru replied. "We have one shot at this. You might want to hang back here." Kindaichi nodded and leaned against a stray pole near the edge of the clearing. Shigeru shot him a winning smile and straightened his shoulders. He slid the comb into his hair and then set off down the aisle.

 

"Pardon me," he said softly when he reached the woman with the peacock. He bowed low, biting his lip.

 

"Good morning," said the woman. "I am surprised to see one of the princes' human knights here today."

 

"I was curious," Shigeru said nervously. "I saw your bird, and..."

 

"Magnificent, isn't he?" the woman preened. "The queen herself doesn't have anything half so fine in her menagerie." Shigeru ducked his head.

 

"He is incredibly fine," he said. "Almost as beautiful as his mistress, truly. I've never seen anything so..." he trailed off, frowning.

 

"You are a strange human," said the woman. Shigeru furrowed his brow and cocked his head.

 

"Why do you say that?" he asked. The woman trailed her fingertips along the feathers between the bird's wings, and Shigeru tracked the motion carefully. She laughed.

 

"Most men throw themselves at _my_ feet, not my bird's." Shigeru started, and she laughed again.

 

"O-oh," he stammered. "Oh, you are - incredibly - beautiful, but I'm afraid-" He trailed off with a frustrated shrug, not sure if it was safe to tell her exactly why her incredible beauty had no effect on him.

 

"It's all right," she said with a laugh. "If your preference is not for women, it is entirely understandable." Shigeru blushed and looked down, thinking that if his preference was for anything at all, this woman would probably be it. Maybe. He honestly had no idea. She smiled sadly again, and reached out to cup his cheek. "I'll tell you what," the woman said suddenly, and Shigeru looked up at her. "You intrigue me. You certainly seem to love this bird, so i will do for you what I have refused for others who wanted him only for their own gain. So i will trade you for him."

 

"I-" Shigeru blinked and looked away. "I'm afraid I can't accept your offer," he said.

 

"And why is that?"

 

"I don't only want him because he's beautiful," he said. "I need him, in order to save my friend. And to help my other friends. I-" he cut off and looked away with a frustrated huff. The woman smiled.

 

"what will you trade for him?" she asked. Shigeru looked up, and saw kindness in her golden eyes, a kindness he almost wanted to trust. His hand shook as he pulled the comb from his hair, and he wished it was accidental.

 

"My very last hope," he said, holding the comb out to her. She smiled and took it.

 

"He is yours," she said. "Tell the queen that she must honor his sacrifice."

 

Shigeru didn't understand. But another look at the woman's face told him he was not meant to. He bowed low. "You cannot know how much this means to me," he whispered.

 

"It means your last hope," she said. "I can understand that." She held out the golden chain attached to the bird's collar, and when he took it their fingers brushed. Shigeru felt nothing at all from the contact, but he could admit she was very pretty. He offered her one last smile, and turned away, drawing the peacock with her.

 

Kindaichi was talking to the blond prince when Shigeru arrived at the beginning of the market again, and they both looked up in surprise.

 

"You got it!" Kindaichi cried happily.

 

"You convinced her to let him go?" asked the prince incredulously. "How?"

 

"By telling the truth," Shigeru said with a shrug. "I offered my last hope in exchange for the one thing I needed most. She seemed to know exactly what I meant."

 

"You okay?" asked Kindaichi. "You don't look so good, senpai." Shigeru smiled and nodded. Kindaichi narrowed his eyes, but did not press further.

 

"Let's go back inside," Shigeru said quietly.

 

"I'll escort you," offered the prince. Shigeru bowed his thanks and followed Akira toward the castle. The white peacock followed him, docile, and Shigeru wondered just what he had tamed. Just before the doors he paused and looked back, but the woman was nowhere to be found.

 

-

 

Issei had the first shift that night, with Kyoutani. He leaned against the window-wall and watched the stars come out and listened to the breathing of his teammates around him in silence.

 

It could be nice, spending time with Kyoutani like this. With no one else awake, there was no one to perform for, and the two of them reached an equilibrium of sorts. There was no need to rile Kyoutani up if there was no joke to be made from it, and there was no need to lash out at Issei if no one would question Kyoutani’s not doing so. It was a peace that was hard to find at any other time. A few hours after sunset, Kyoutani shifted in his seat for the first time all night. Issei looked up automatically, not really interested in what was happening until he saw Kyoutani’s face.

 

Kyoutani was a silent crier. Issei had only seen it once or twice, after their loss at the spring tournament and at the end of a particularly rough practice when Kyoutani had had a shitty week and refused to tell anyone about it. But even knowing that, Issei was still shocked to see the tear tracks running down Kyoutani’s cheeks and the way his lip trembled before he bit down on it. He thought for a moment about pretending he hadn’t seen anything and giving Kyoutani his space, but then Kyoutani glanced up and met Issei’s eyes and any hope of pretense fell away. Kyoutani didn’t glare or look away, so Issei shuffled over to sit next to him, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He waited in silence until Kyoutani leaned over, pressing against Issei’s side with an almost inaudible sigh.

 

“I miss Akemi,” Issei whispered, an invitation. Kyoutani nodded. He pressed just a little bit closer.

 

“’M worried about them,” he said. “Especially Shi-chan. Something happened to him today but he won’t say what.”

 

“He’ll tell you in time,” Issei said. Kyoutani shook his head.

 

“I don’t think he knows,” he said. “And he’s had such a shit time lately. I’m worried it’s gonna send him into another self-doubt spiral.”

 

“It won’t,” Issei said. “You and Watachin won’t let it.” He looked at the boys sprawled around the room, at the way Yahaba was curled like he always did to sleep, as small as he could make himself. “None of us will,” he said, and knew it was true. Kyoutani shrugged.

 

“Last week he was terrified of becoming captain,” he said. “He kept freaking out about not being able to handle it and entrance exams and everything else he keeps piling on his own plate. Seems stupid to think about it now, but when we get back all that’s still gonna be waiting for him.” Kyoutani paused, letting a heavy silence stretch not-uncomfortably between them. “How do you three do it for the captain?” he asked quietly.

 

“I guess we don’t,” he muttered. “If we did, he wouldn’t have done this.”

 

“He would’ve,” Kyoutani said. “He’s an even bigger moron than the creampuff. But usually, he’s fine. It was just recently that he got so bad. Which means that whatever you three do, it works most of the time.”

 

“I don’t know,” Issei sighed. “I never know.” Kyoutani grunted and leaned his head against Issei’s chest. Issei wrapped an arm around his shoulders and looked out the window again.

 

-

 

The look in the queen’s eye when she had given Issei his task had not been a pleasant one. She had been wearing one of the feathers from the peacock Yahaba had gotten in her hair, but every time it brushed against her ear she grimaced. She had tossed out the challenge with a shadow in her eyes, like she was looking forward to watching him fail. She had turned on her heel and left the throne room as soon as her challenge had been given, slamming the door abruptly behind her.

 

“I don’t think she’s very happy with us,” Hanamaki commented. Issei nodded.

 

“Any ideas?” he asked.

 

“Well, Prince Akira mentioned something about a phoenix,” said Kindaichi. “I think he said the princess had one? But I don’t know how you would be able to get any ashes from it. She doesn’t seem like the friendliest person.”

 

“Well, standing around isn’t gonna get us anywhere,” said Iwaizumi, crouching to retie Yahaba’s shoe. Yahaba stared down at him incredulously.

 

“Are you my mom, Iwa-chan?” he sing-songed in a nasally imitation of Oikawa’s voice. Iwaizumi started, looking up at Yahaba and then down at his hands. His ears turned pink and he stood, looking away.

 

“Kindaichi, do you know anything about the princess?” he asked, voice hoarse. Yahaba bit his lip and looked down. Oikawa had been quiet when he’d been brought in for them to see, refusing to make eye contact with any of them. Worry tossed like an ocean wave in Issei’s stomach, and he knew he wasn’t the only one.

 

“Uh… I know she’s either in the kitchen ordering people around or in the red room with some soldiers,” Kindaichi said.

 

“What the hell is a red room?” muttered Kunimi. Kindaichi shrugged.

 

“That’s just what the prince called it,” he said. “I think it’s on the first floor, down a long hallway to the right of the entrance hall.”

 

“Might as well start there,” Hanamaki said. “Who’s coming with?”

 

“I’ll come,” Iwaizumi said.

 

“Shocker. Anyone else?” Iwaizumi glared significantly at Kunimi, who sighed.

 

“Fine,” he muttered.

 

“Did we miss something?” Hanamaki asked, leaning against Issei’s shoulder and whispering in his ear.

 

“Just Iwa-chan being a mom,” Issei said. “Nothing new.” Iwaizumi glared at them and Hanamaki doubled over laughing, and the heavy spell cast by Yahaba’s imitation was broken. He was still laughing as they made their way down the stairs to the entrance hall. “Well, here goes nothing,” Issei said, and plunged down the hallway on the right.

 

Unlike any of the other halls they’d explored, this one ran straight and true. There were no openings on either side, just one endless corridor walled in rich purples. And then, just as Issei was beginning to think the hallway was an enchantment, it ended in a single door, painted red. Issei glanced over his shoulder at Hanamaki, then shrugged and turned the knob.

 

The red room lived up to its name. The walls and floor were made of smooth, blood-colored stone, seamless and unbroken save by the doorway Issei had opened. The interior was an open space, round and five meters in diameter. Light streamed down from an unseen source in the high ceiling. The walls were stacked with shelves and racks of weapons of various sorts, some familiar and some bearing the other-worldliness of faerie implements. There was a wide ring marked out on the floor, and in its center a pair of people were sparring.

 

Karin was a hurricane, twisting and kicking and flying around the ring faster than Issei could keep track of. Her hair was coming loose of its knot at the nape of her neck, framing her face and whipping through the air with each of her motions. She landed a fist against her opponent’s jaw and he went sprawling in front of the door, staring at Issei with a dazed look in his eye.

 

“Sugawara,” Issei greeted. Sugawara grinned.

 

“Come to see me get my ass handed to me?” he asked. Issei grinned.

 

“No, but I’m not opposed, now that I’m here,” he said.

 

“Mattsun, stop flirting, I want to see,” whined Hanamaki. Issei stepped aside to let the others file in. “Oh, hey Sugawara.”

 

“Oh great, more witnesses to my ass-kicking,” Sugawara groaned. He sat up with a groan and rubbed at his jaw. “Speaking of, did you have to go so hard? You know I’m delicate!”

 

“You say that like you don’t enjoy it,” retorted Karin, wiping the back of her neck with a towel. “What can I do for you today, knights?” Issei bowed shallowly.

 

“I believe the question is what can we do for you, Princess,” Issei said. “Her Majesty has requested the fresh ashes of a phoenix, so we’re here to find out what you would require in return.”

 

Karin considered him for a moment, then crossed to one of the shelves. “Change into these,” she said, throwing a bundle of fabric at his chest. “The half-blood isn’t much more than a warmup these days. If you can give me a genuine workout, I will consider giving you what you need.” Sugawara’s face lit up and he scrambled out of the ring.

 

“Try not to break him to much, Princess,” he said. Karin snorted and tossed her head.

 

“You want to fight me,” Issei said, staring down at the clothes in his hands. They were pretty standard workout clothes, a sleeveless shirt and a tight but soft and stretchy pair of leggings. The black fabric shimmered in the light like a galaxy trapped between the threads.

 

“Do you accept?” Karin asked.

 

“Yeah, I accept,” Issei said with a shrug. “I’m just surprised is all.”

 

“Don’t worry, knightling,” the princess said as she stretched her arms over her head. “I promised my mother I wouldn’t kill or permanently ruin any of you. At least until you’ve failed one of your tasks.”

 

“You’re very gracious, Highness,” Issei said. He handed Kunimi the clothing and pulled his shirt over his head. “I’ll return the courtesy.” Karin snorted.

 

“I wouldn’t get too cocky if I were you,” Sugawara hummed. “I don’t know anyone who’s actually beaten her.”

 

“Shiro did once, when we were kids,” Karin said. “Then the next day I beat him so bad he couldn’t get out of bed for a week. ‘Course, some of that was him playing it up so Kiyo would take care of him…”

 

“Gross,” Sugawara commented with a grin on his face. They bantered back and forth about the princes and several things Issei didn’t bother trying to understand as he pulled on the sparring clothes and stretched. By the time his limbs were warm and loose, Karin had gotten bored and started practicing some forms with a long staff, leaving Sugawara to chatter at Hanamaki, and Iwaizumi. Kunimi sat against the wall, leaning into his side with his head pillowed on his arms.

 

“Ready, knightling?” asked the princess. Issei stood and shook out the last of the tension in his shoulders, then nodded. He caught the staff the princess threw his way and settled into a defensive stance. The princess smiled, then attacked.


	4. Chapter 4

Takahiro had to admit, it was a good fight. He’d known that the princess was good, but he hadn’t realized just how good she would be. All of Matsukawa’s experience and skill - which Takahiro hadn’t realized the extent of either, and he was thoroughly enjoying seeing on display - could only just match her. She was faster and stronger than him, but his stance was solid and he could take a hit. Takahiro lost track of how many times she sent him sprawling only for him to spring back up and redouble his efforts.

 

They had been fighting for maybe five minutes when Karin’s staff shattered against Matsukawa’s, snapping in two as shards of dark, polished wood flew in every direction. She sprang back a step, considering, then came at him with the half still in her hand. Matsukawa twisted away and smacked her wrist hard enough to maker her hiss and lose her grip on the staff. Takahiro leaned forward, grinning, as Matsukawa swept her feet out from under her.

 

She rolled with the motion, ducking under his guard and slamming her fist into his stomach. She struck at his jaw and his shoulder and his side, then twisted his staff out of his grip and leveled it at him. Matsukawa panted for a moment, then raised his fists and readjusted his stance. The princess grinned and moved in for another strike.

 

“He’s good,” Sugawara commented. Iwaizumi nodded, looking a little dazed. Takahiro’s grin widened.

 

“He’s not bad,” Kunimi said. Takahiro hadn’t even realized he was awake. “He has a habit of putting too much weight on his left foot, or leaving his sides unguarded when he punches.”

 

“How the hell do you know that?” Iwaizumi sputtered. Kunimi shrugged.

 

“I’ve fought him,” he said. Takahiro filed _that_ away for later analysis and watched the princess take a swing at Matsukawa’s head. Matsukawa caught the staff and tugged toward himself, kicking the princess in the stomach as he did. She lost her grip on it and stumbled backward several steps, a shocked look on her face. It warped into a grin and she darted forward once more.

 

“This will be over soon,” Sugawara said. Sure enough, Karin kicked Matsukawa’s knee out from under him and wrenched the staff from his hands. She nudged the end against Matsukawa’s temple.

 

“Point,” she said, only sounding a little out of breath for all that sweat was pouring down her body.

 

“Point conceded,” Matsukawa panted. Karin grinned and settled the end of the staff on the ground, leaning on it with one hand on her hip as Matsukawa peeled himself from the floor.

 

“Not bad, knightling,” she said. “Better than the half-blood, anyway.”

 

“You wound me, Highness,” Sugawara laughed. He was watching Matsukawa with bright, narrowed eyes and a grin on his face. Takahiro set his jaw and promised himself he would be keeping a much closer eye on Sugawara in the future. He watched Matsukawa pull off his shirt, eying the red marks on his sides that would become bruises by the next morning. He held out Matsukawa’s clothes without a word.

 

“Well,” Karin said. She smoothed her hair out of her face and regarded Matsukawa with a predator’s expression. “I can’t say I am not impressed. It has been a long time since someone managed to disarm me.” She watched him for a moment in silence, then nodded. “Return to the throne room. I will deliver the ashes to you before dusk.”

 

Matsukawa bowed and gestured for the others to leave. Takahiro hesitated, but followed Kunimi and Iwaizumi into the endless purple hallway. As soon as the door closed behind Matsukawa, a weight collided with Takahiro’s back, almost sending him to the floor.

 

“Hey, Makki,” Matsukawa said, looping his arms loosely around Takahiro’s shoulders.

 

“Yes, Mattsun?” asked Takahiro.

 

“I don’t think I can walk any further.” There was no joke in Matsukawa’s voice, but Takahiro laughed anyway.

 

“All right, you lump,” he said, dropping a hand onto Matsukawa’s arm. “Can one of you help me out here?”

 

“I mean, Mimichi could probably just carry him,” Iwaizumi said with a laugh. Kunimi glared at him.

 

“This is why you dragged me along, isn’t it?” he snarled. Iwaizumi grinned.

 

“I thought it might be helpful to have you on hand,” he said with a shrug. Kunimi scowled.

 

“Fine,” he snapped. “But if he makes this any more difficult than it has to be, I’m dropping him and you can figure out some other way to get him up to the throne room.” Takahiro saluted him lazily and stepped to one side to let Kunimi get to Matsukawa.

 

It was pretty comical, seeing all of Matsukawa’s long limbs wrapped around Kunimi’s slender torso. But Kunimi hiked Matsukawa up piggyback-style without so much as a grunt and led the way down the hall like it was nothing. Somehow it was even more impressive than watching him carry Iwaizumi had been.

 

“I keep learning new things about our little team,” Takahiro commented as he and Iwaizumi fell into step behind Kunimi.

 

“I don’t want to learn anymore,” Iwaizumi grumbled. “ _You_ _’re_ not hiding nay incredible talent from us, are you?”

 

“I can tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue.” Takahiro shrugged. “Other than that, nope.”

 

-

 

There was some sort of commotion in the palace that night. Takahiro woke with a start at the sound of a crash and inhuman groaning outside the window-wall. He sat up, knocking Matsukawa into Kindaichi, and peered out into the darkness.

 

The trees were moving. Great shadows swayed and faltered in the night, blocking out the stars one moment and revealing them again the next. As Takahiro watched, on of the massive oaks lining the clearing in which the castle stood collapsed with crash that shook the palace walls.

 

“What d’you think…” Watari trailed off, the moonlight glinting in his wide eyes.

 

“It’s either nothing, or it’s something very, very bad,” Matsukawa answered, rubbing at his side where it had collided with Kindaichi’s shoulder. “Either way, I doubt it has anything to do with us.”

 

The door slammed open.

 

“You _had_ to say it,” groaned Iwaizumi.

 

“I want three guards inside and four outside,” snapped the princess, standing in the doorway, surrounded by faeries in palace uniforms and leather armor. She took in the room, as though making sure they were all inside, then nodded to herself. She was dressed for battle, hair swept up in a braided knot and a gleaming helm under her arm that matched the rest of her moon-bright armor. A sword roughly the length of her forearm hung at her hip, and she held a silver-tipped staff in one hand. The ash rope Kunimi had made was looped several times around her waist. “No one goes in or out without my permission, not even another member of the royal family.”

 

“Yes, Princess,” said one of the guards, with a bow. Karin swept out of the room and the doors slammed shut, with three of the faeries still inside. There was a brief commotion of footsteps in the hallway, then the world went quiet.

 

“What’s going on?” Yahaba asked one of the guards. She glanced at the other two.

 

“It’s none of your concern,” she said curtly. Her grip on the hilt of her sword was tight, and her shoulders were tense, ready to spring into motion at a moment’s notice.

 

“Are we in danger?” Yahaba insisted. “The queen-”

 

“The queen sent us here to protect you,” snapped another guard, a broad man with a massive red beard. “She has spared valuable palace resources to babysit a bunch of humans, so if I were you I would accept her protection with gratitude and not ask questions you have no business asking.” The walls shook as another tree fell outside the window-wall. Takahiro started to look toward it, but his eyes caught Matsukawa’s on the way and he stopped.

 

“Hiro,” whispered Matsukawa, and Takahiro nodded.

 

“Just like at Hanger’s alien movie party,” he said. They both turned toward the far corner and sure enough, there was Kyoutani huddled under as many blankets as he could find, hands clamped over his ears. Matsukawa climbed to his feet, ignoring the suspicious glares of the guards. He limped over to Kyoutani and flopped down beside him with a quiet ‘oof’. Kyoutani glared, but another crash sent him scrambling into Matsukawa’s lap with a quiet whimper. Matsukawa shuffled around so that he was facing the corner, shielding Kyoutani from the rest of the room, and Takahiro forced himself to relax, at least a little. He wrapped his arms around himself and leaned his chin on his knees, waiting.

 

It didn’t take too long. Iwaizumi had been on edge for days, and every crash and thump and shout echoing from the courtyard below was only sending the tension in the room higher.

 

Takahiro hadn’t expected it to be Yahaba to snap, but maybe with Kyoutani huddled in a quiet panic in the corner he should have. Yahaba sprang to his feet, fists clenched at his sides, and marched right up to the red-bearded guard.

 

“ _Look_ ,” he snapped, jabbing a finger at the air just in front of the guard’s nose. “Either you can tell us what’s going on here or you get to explain to the queen why one of her guests was found tomorrow morning, thrown from the window. Humans are very fragile creatures, you know.”

 

“You wouldn’t,” the guard said, folding his arms and raising an unimpressed eyebrow. Yahaba mirrored his position, and Takahiro bit back a sigh.

 

“As much as it pains me to say this, he would,” he said. “That’s a desperate man you’re looking at there.” The guard looked at him, then back at Yahaba, jaw clenching.

 

“It doesn’t concern you,” he gritted. Yahaba stared him down for a moment longer, then nodded.

 

“Okay,” he said.His entire body relaxed, hands loose at his sides and eyes closed peacefully. Then all at once he burst into motion, racing toward the window-wall.

 

“Stop him!” shouted the guard, but Yahaba was too fast. He slipped under the arm of the guard closest to him and jumped over Kunimi’s legs, lowering his head as he sprinted. “Wait!” cried the guard. “Stop, I’ll tell you!”

 

Just before Yahaba reached his target, Takahiro reached out and snagged him around the waist. They both went crashing to the floor, spare inches away from what would have been a drop to Yahaba’s death. Takahiro glared at him and got nothing but a cheeky grin in return as they untangled themselves and sat up.

 

“Great,” said Yahaba sweetly. “You can start with why the princess doesn’t want anyone else in the royal family coming into this room.”

 

“Because,” said the guard through gritted teeth, “the forces that are attacking this castle are insidious. They have a way of turning you against your own kin, or if that doesn’t work, sometimes they just steal your face. There is no easy way to know if the person you’re talking to is who you think they are when _he_ is involved.”

 

“So how can you know that the princess is who she says she is?” asked Takahiro.

 

“The rope,” answered the first guard. “The ash rope the princess had around her waist. It nullifies enchantments, so there is no way they can manipulate her as long as she has it, and any copy they make of her when she wears it will be a faulty one. She is safe from their tricks.”

 

“Who is attacking the palace?” asked Takahiro. The guard shook her head.

 

“Those who you would be fortunate to never meet,” said the final guard, the one who had been silent until that point. “They see humans as mere playthings. If they found you were guests of this court, their hatred of us would extend to you, with none of the respect afforded to those of the same kind.” The sound of footsteps and muffled fighting filtered through the heavy wooden door. “The next few hours could mean your lives.”

 

-

 

Kentarou’s world was the shuddering booms and sickening cracks of a forest in its death throes. A small part of himself, a part that was still rational and functioning despite it all, was pissed. He’d been doing so well, managing the overloads that came without a warning and left him trembling and useless. The last time this had happened had been months ago, when a thunderstorm had rolled through a team sleepover. It had been ages since the last time the sounds of sneakers squeaking on a gymnasium floor or volleyballs colliding with wood had driven him to panic. And yet here he was, huddled in Matsukawa’s lap in a dark corner, whimpering with every new crash.

 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Matsukawa had said the last time, when he’d found Kentarou huddled in Oikawa’s linen closet, and Kentarou had wanted to believe him. But he had always known that it was a weakness, one that would appear someday when he most needed it to stay hidden.

 

Someday like today. As the forest fell to its knees outside the palace and the fight came to its pathetic end in the hall, Kentarou knew that whatever happened next he would be helpless to stop it. His team could die around him and he wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing, all because of a couple little booms.

 

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.” Matsukawa’s voice was quiet, only for Kentarou to hear. He was wrapped entirely around Kentarou, a shield against the rest of the room, narrowing the world down to just them and the joining of the walls and the floor. His hand swept up and down Kentarou’s back. “I mean it,” he said. “Try and listen to your elders, for once in your life.”

 

Kentarou knew it was a ploy to get him to calm down and focus on something other than his panic. He let it work anyway.

 

“I will,” he growled, “as soon as my elders have something useful to say.” Matsukawa pressed his face into the back of Kentarou’s neck, lips stretched into a smirk.

 

“Good dog,” Matsukawa whispered. Kentarou elbowed him in the gut. The sounds of trees falling started to fade into the distance and Kentarou sat upright. He peeked over Matsukawa’s shoulder at Yahaba bickering with the guards. A smile tugged at his lips and he hooked his chin on Matsukawa’s shoulder, relaxing just a bit.

 

The night stretched on, battle sounds coming and going and fading away again. It seemed as though the sun would never rise when the door opened at last.

 

Prince Akira looked around the room with something between determination and relief on his face. There was blood smeared across his cheeks, and more dripping from the sword he held. The guards stopped their slouching and raised their own weapons.

 

“Prince Himura, leave now,” ordered the one with the beard. Akira blinked, then glanced down at his sword.

 

“Ah,” he said. “Of course. I wasn’t thinking.” Slowly, with his other hand raised in surrender, he sheathed his sword. He glanced around the room once more, then backed out. One of the guards kicked the door shut behind him.

 

“What was that all about?” asked Watari. The guards glanced at each other.

 

“You heard the princess,” said one, lowering the point of her spear. “No one but her in or out.”

 

“Okay, but you seemed much more aggressive toward him than I would have expected,” Watari said. “And he seemed to expect it. What’s up there?”

 

“ _That_ truly is none of your concern,” grunted the bearded guard.

 

“Isn’t Himura the surname of the dignitary who’s coming to visit?” Kindaichi asked. Matsukawa swiveled to look at him, almost sending them both sprawling. Kentarou climbed out of his lap and leaned against his side instead.

 

“How could you know that?” hissed the third guard. Kindaichi shrugged.

 

“Prince Akira told me,” he said. “A few days ago. I asked him why a visiting noble would put everyone on edge like this, and he said that the Himura court has never had the best relationship with this one. He seemed sad when he said it.”

 

“That’s because the visiting noble, Himura Hibiki, is Prince Akira’s cousin,” said the second guard. She pulled off her helm and let a cascade of sunshine-golden hair fall around her shoulders.

 

“Mizuki-” hissed the bearded guard, but she ignored him.

 

“There are many rumors surrounding Prince Akira’s mother’s death, but the vast majority of them point to Lord Hibiki. Shortly after she died, Prince Akira came here to strike an alliance with the queen. He married into the royal family and thus his kingdom became a principality of hers. This angered Lord Hibiki, who many believe had plans to assassinate his cousin and take the throne. He threatened to declare war as long as his cousin remained in this court. Many believe that is why the queen assigned all three princes to guard the gate to the human world, as a measure of appeasement.”

 

“Those are just rumors,” snapped the bearded guard. Mizuki shook her head.

 

“You weren’t in the Himura court when the late queen died,” she whispered.

 

“What does all of this have to do with us?” Kentarou asked. The guards turned to look at him with varying levels of surprise on their faces. He shrugged. “The prince came to check on us specifically. The queen sent you to guard us. If this was just a family spat, you wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

 

“Lord Hibiki is very dangerous,” said Mizuki. “He is very skilled at the sort of magic that will turn family against one another, whether that family is blood or bond. There are currently two bond families in the palace which do not belong here, and who pose more of a danger to us with him around, and you are one of them. If he were to turn such a tight-knit pack of humans against us, it would be our end.”

 

“How could we pose a threat?” asked Kindaichi. “With all your power, we’re kind of at your mercy here, aren’t we?”

 

“I wish it were that simple,” sighed Mizuki. “But it would be naive to think so.”

 

She didn’t offer an explanation, and no one asked for one. Matsukawa slumped against Kentarou and eventually fell asleep. One by one the rest of the team followed, safe for now under the guard of the faeries. Kentarou remained awake, watching the wind toy through the remaining treetops and fingering the hilt of his knife. The sky was just beginning to lighten when the door opened once more.

 

“You are relieved,” said the princess without preamble. “Return to your regular posts and await further orders, from any superior.” She waited until the guards had left, then looked over the room. Her eyes locked on Kentarou and she crossed to stand in front of him. “Did anyone try to enter?” she asked.

 

“Prince Akira,” he said. “The guards told him to leave so he put his sword away and went.” Karin’s shoulders slumped and she swept the loose strands of her hair out of her face.

 

“Perfect,” she muttered.

 

“If his being here is why this Hibiki guy is coming, why doesn’t he just leave?” Kentarou asked. Karin blinked at him.

 

“It’s not that simple,” she said. “He would, in a heartbeat, if it meant my brother and Shiro would be okay. But if they leave now, Hibiki will still destroy this palace and everyone in it. Kiyo won’t leave if it means he can’t protect us, and Akira won’t leave if it means he can’t protect Kiyo.” She smiled, a sad little thing, and shook her head. “They’re all idiots, but they’re stubborn idiots.”

 

“I can relate,” Kentarou said, and Karin smiled at him. It only lasted a moment, but it was a genuine smile from someone who knew what it was to love unconditionally and to have that love be their undoing. She turned and left without a word, and Kentarou was alone with the slumbering team and the weight of his loyalty to each and every one of them.

 

-

 

In the morning light, the palace was as pristine and beautiful as ever. Kentarou sat in the throne room, watching Hanamaki dig through bags in search of a water bottle, and thought about his visit from the princess early that morning. She had given no sign that anything had occurred in the night as she went about her official business, leading the team to the throne room and standing by while the queen brought Oikawa out for them to see and then gave Hanamaki his task. No sign whatsoever that she had any emotion other than battle rage and diplomatic calm.

 

“Oi, Kyouken, heads up!” Kentarou opened his eyes just in time to see the apple right before it collided with his forehead.

 

“What the fuck?” he snapped. His glare had no effect on anyone, except to make Yahaba double over with laughter. He scowled down at the apple suspiciously. “Where’d you get this?” he asked.

 

“From Shallot-kun’s bag,” Hanamaki replied. “Our food didn’t disappear with the iron and rowan, after all.” Kentarou eyed the apple. It had been days since he’d last eaten, but he wasn’t hungry. It must have had something to do with the magic of the place, but he didn’t trust it. Eating human food in the faerie forest would not have the same effect as eating the faerie’s food, but it might break whatever spell was keeping them from starving. He wasn’t sure it was a risk he wanted to take. But the apple looked so good, red and round and innocent in his hand. He tossed it once, considering.

 

Before he could make a decision, Hanamaki found what he was looking for with a triumphant shout. He stuffed the water battle inside the sieve the queen had given him and grinned up at Matsukawa.

 

“See?” he boasted. “You put the water in the bottle and the bottle in the sieve, and it works.”

 

“Yes, you’re very clever,” Matsukawa said, not entirely without fondness. “Now let’s go find a well before it wears off.”

 

Hanamaki and Matsukawa left, taking Watari and Iwaizumi with them. Kentarou closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, more exhausted than he really should have been.

 

“You gonna eat that, or just cradle it?” Kentarou opened his eyes to watch Yahaba settle in next to him, rolling his own apple between his palms.

 

“You first, _Shi-chan,_ ” he said. Yahaba grinned at him and raised the apple, mouth opened comically wide. “Wait-” Kentarou grabbed his wrist to stop him.

 

“What’s up?” Yahaba asked.

 

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” Kentarou said. Yahaba rolled his eyes and jerked his arm free.

 

“We’ve been eating the food,” he said. “Not a lot, since there’s not much of it, but we have been eating. And nothing bad’s happened so far.”

 

“Oh.” Kentarou looked at Yahaba a moment longer, just to make sure he wasn’t being pretty and empty like he usually was when he tried to be charming. When he found nothing but tired sincerity, he took a bite of his apple. Yahaba leaned back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling and tossing his own apple between his hands idly.

 

“Four more tasks,” Yahaba said. “Three and a half, really.” He rolled his head to look at Kentarou out of the corner of his eye. “You worried?”

 

Kentarou shrugged and took another bite of his apple. He watched Kindaichi, shuffling through the pile of bags in the center of the room, and Kunimi curled up in the opposite corner with three different Seijoh jackets thrown over him. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Whatever she has me do, I’ll find a way to do it. I have to.”

 

Yahaba watched him for a long moment, like there was something he desperately wanted to say. Whatever it was, he never said it.

 

-

 

Kindaichi was talking to the prince again when Akira woke from his impromptu nap. Hanamaki and the others had returned already, sitting near the window with Kyoutani and Yahaba and laughing about something or other. Akira considered joining them, but then shuffled over to Kindaichi and the prince instead.

 

“Oh, you’re up!” Kindaichi said brightly. Akira flopped against his side and eyed the prince.

 

“Whatever you’re trying to achieve, it’d probably be easier if you told us the truth,” he said. He hadn’t meant to speak loud enough for anyone but Kindaichi and the prince to hear, but the conversation across the room cut off abruptly nonetheless. The prince looked at him, and seemed to consider acting surprised. He dropped the act after only a few seconds, however, and gave Akira a wry smile.

 

“You have to understand the position I'm in," he said, looking down at his hands. "For centuries, I and the two people I love most have been hiding from someone who I thought for most of my life was a friend and ally. And now a bunch of humans come along and manage to turn all of that upside down. It's not easy to open up."

 

"And yet," Akira said. The prince sighed through his nose.

 

"And yet," he agreed. "So I take it you heard the story?"

 

"Pieces," Akira said. "Kyouken heard more, and most of the others don't know quite as much as me." The prince nodded.

 

"Well then," the prince said. "Since you've been so kind as to accept my company, knowing what you know, I suppose I'll repay you with a story."

 

It began, as so many such stories do, with once upon a time, in an enchanted forest. The queen of one of the three great faerie kingdoms had a son, whom many said was the spirit of the sun born into flesh and magic. The queen and her son loved each other dearly, and each also loved the son of the queen's sister, who had passed away in childbirth. The kingdom was happy.

 

One day, the prince was playing in the gardens when inside there arose a great commotion. The queen, who had been attending to her duties in the great council chamber of the palace, fell suddenly ill and collapsed. The best physicians in the kingdom attended her, but they could do nothing to cure her illness. And so, the queen passed on, leaving the kingdom to her son's guidance, and her son to his cousin's.

 

For some time, the kingdom remained peaceful. But threats of conflict were brewing on the borders, where the other two faerie kingdoms were growing anxious at the thought o their neighbor being ruled by one so young. And so the prince journeyed to the center-most of the three, in order to negotiate a peace between them. he agreed that he was not an ideal ruler, too young and naive in the was of the world, and thus placed the throne of his kingdom under that of another. The third kingdom agreed to do likewise so that the three would never know war with one another. The princes of each of these kingdoms were married, and the queen of the center ruled over all three, and the people knew peace.

 

This peace angered the prince's cousin, who had planned secretly to murder the prince and take the throne of his kingdom for himself. Not content to be merely the regent of a principality, he declared war on the other two kingdoms. Using the insidious magic that was his gift, he convinced people to turn on their own families, and take up arms for his cause. A bloody campaign led him to the heart of the three kingdoms, where he demanded an audience with the queen.

 

"So long as the three kingdoms are united, I will not cease my war," he said. "I demand that the three princes be separated, and that my kingdom be turned over to my hands."

 

"It is not in my power to undo what has been done," said the queen. "The princes share a bond that cannot be broken, and the kingdoms are mine. But I shall offer you a compromise.

 

"The princes will be banished from these lands, never again to return to the seat of their power. You will return to your lands, lord over all of them, king in all but in name. So long as you maintain this pact of peace, I will not interfere in your governing o your people, and nor will I call back your cousin to take his rightful place on the throne."

 

The prince's cousin agreed to these terms, and ceased his war on the kingdoms. He returned to his palace, where he continued to rule over the kingdom uncontested. He was a cruel lord, unforgiving and cold, but, afraid of repeating the war that had killed so many, the people did not protest. The three princes, the queen sent to the very edge of their world, to guard the place where faerie and human lands met. For two hundred years, the kingdoms rested under an uneasy, but unbroken peace.

 

"The day you found us, Kiyo and I fought with Shiro. We couldn't risk coming back here, or else my cousin would declare his war again and everything would be in ruins. But Shiro had to keep his word, and Kiyo and I could not leave him to keep it alone. So we came back here, and now Hibiki is coming to kill us all." The prince said it simply, but he could not quite hide the pain in his eyes.

 

"What does all of this have to do with us?" Akira asked him.

 

"In what way?" The prince returned. "There are many."

 

"In the way that the queen sent seven guards to our room last night, and you were turned away at the point of a spear," Akira droned. The prince snorted.

 

"My cousin's magic is insidious," he said. "He deals in relationships, in turning love against itself. Nothing makes a more powerful weapon than a group of people who have made a family in one another. In his hands, it could raze this palace to the ground. In other hands, turned against him, it could be his undoing."

 

"Karin mentioned two bond families in the palace," Kyoutani said suddenly. "The three of you are the other, aren't you?"

 

"We are," the prince said. "And there's the fact of my history with Hibiki. He will not hesitate to use it against me, and therefore against the queen."

 

"Well he sounds like a great guy," Yahaba said. "But what I don't get is why you're so interested in us. You personally."

 

“I’m not sure if I should tell you that,” the prince said.

 

“Do it anyway,” Akira replied. The prince snorted, a very unprincely sound. Akira found he liked him slightly better after hearing it.

 

“Akira.” Akira twisted around at the sound of his name, and then immediately realized what a mistake that was. Luckily, the rest of the team had looked too, and covered his slip. The other two princes stood in the doorway, one looking around at the team and the other staring at their third.

 

“You’re a remarkably clever bunch,” the prince said to Akira, climbing to his feet. He smiled at them, so wide that his eyes disappeared in the folds of his cheeks. “I’m sure you can figure it out yourselves.” He joined the other two, wrapping an arm around Kiyo’s waist as they disappeared around a corner. Akira flopped onto his back and sighed.

 

“Well _that_ was helpful,” he muttered.

 

“Hey, we learned something,” Iwaizumi said. Akira shook his head.

 

“Not that,” he said. “That was useful. I meant the whole thing where he’s taken such an interest in Shallot-kun.”

 

“Yeah, that’s pretty weird,” agreed Yahaba.

 

“Is it?” asked Kindaichi. Akira snorted.

 

“You’re cute,” he said, “but not cute enough to make a faerie prince want to be your bff.”

 

“Yes I am!” Kindaichi protested.

 

“Of course you are,” Iwaizumi soothed. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t suspicious.”

 

“It could have something to do with why the queen’s having us do all these ‘chores’,” Watari commented. “Like, the thing with the rope.”

 

“Yeah, I noticed that too,” Iwaizumi said. “I can’t figure out how they all add up, though.”

 

“Well, the peacock itself is probably magical,” Akira said. “And the phoenix ashes that Mattsun got could be an ingredient to something. I can’t figure out the sieve, though.”

 

“Well, the blind man’s sight was probably a nothing task, too,” Watari said. Akira shrugged.

 

“Now it wasn’t,” Kindaichi said. He looked around the team, brow furrowed. “It was Shiro’s prophecy.”

 

“Okay, care to share with the rest of the class, Shallot-kun?” asked Hanamaki. Kindaichi flushed and hunched his shoulders.

 

“Shiro has a gift of prophecy, which is channeled through the stone he wears,” he said. “Which is why it was so significant when we showed up with it. He could still see without it, but it acts like a pair of glasses I guess? I didn’t really understand it when Prince Akira explained it to me, but Watachin giving it back to him was what cleared the task. The sieve is probably a nothing, though, just something to keep us busy while the queen attends to more important things.”

 

“When the hell did you become the most informed person on the team?” grumbled Hanamaki. Kindaichi blushed harder.

 

“I listen,” he said quietly. Akira smirked.

 

“Well, at least now we know they need to succeed as much as we do,” he said. “That makes this whole thing much easier.”

 

“I think you might have just jinxed us, Mimichi,” said Iwaizumi. Akira shrugged.

 

“Hey, I already delivered on my task,” he said, pointing lazily. The ash rope he’d made was draped decoratively over the throne, clearly ready for use at a moment’s notice.

 

“ _I already delivered on my task,_ ” mimicked Iwaizumi. Akira stuck his tongue out at him and he laughed.

 

“The three of you are perfectly capable of handling whatever she throws at you,” Akira said. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and have something ridiculously easy like Makki.”

 

“Hey, I worked hard on this task!” Hanamaki protested, but he was laughing.

 

“It must have been so difficult, getting that water bottle out of Kyouken’s bag,” Akira droned.

 

“It was!” Hanamaki cried. “And then I had to walk all the way to that well, and that was a long trip! And then this pretty Fair boy was flirting with me, and I had to turn him down in the name of duty and goodness! Do you know what that did to my heart?”

 

“Not much, since it was already black and shriveled,” Akira replied. Hanamaki gasped dramatically, laying a hand over his chest.

 

“My own precious kouhai, saying such cruel and callous things about me!” Akira closed his eyes and settled his arms behind his head.

 

“I told you you weren’t my favorite senpai anymore,” he said. “I don’t know what you expected.”

 

“If he’s not your favorite senpai, who is?” Yahaba sounded much too invested in the answer so Akira sat up enough to smile at him.

 

“Kyouken-san, of course,” he purred. Yahaba and Kyoutani both gawped at him as Iwaizumi burst out laughing. Akira listened to the good-natured bickering that broke out in the wake of his proclamation and smiled to himself.

 

-

 

“You can do it, Iwa-san!” Shinji called, craning his neck to track Iwaizumi’s progress. He was standing on a ledge about halfway up the spire, clinging desperately to the edge of a window.

 

“I don’t think he can hear you,” Yahaba commented. Shinji glanced at him and then away, biting his lip. “Anyway, it’s Mimichi’s fault. He did jinx him, after all.”

 

“How was I supposed to know she would give this task to him?” Kunimi didn’t look away from the speck that was Iwaizumi, voice thoughtful. “It’s not like she could’ve realized he was scared of heights.”

 

“Well she clearly did,” Yahaba said, also not looking down. “You saw the look on her face when she picked him this morning.”

 

“Still not my fault.”

 

“He’s stuck,” Shinji commented. Sure enough, Iwaizumi had stopped all forward progress, clinging to the window and crouching as small as he could.

 

“Should we throw something at him? Get him unstuck?”

 

“That’s a horrible idea, Makki.”

 

“I don’t see you coming up with anything better.”

 

“So when he falls, you get to be the one to explain to the queen _and_ Hanger that we failed because you had to be a little shit.”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

“Oh no, there he goes again.”

 

Shinji watched Iwaizumi creep closer to the peak of the spire, impressed. Iwaizumi had never been comfortable around windows that were more than a couple of stories off the ground, and had refused to join the team on their trip to the observation deck when they’d visited Tokyo Tower the year before. But now there he was, climbing the exterior of a fifty-meter tower. Shinji could just make out the wind whipping at his shirt, and his chest clenched.

 

“I hope he’s okay,” he whispered. Kyoutani laced their fingers together and squeezed.

 

“He’ll be fine,” he said. “He’s strong and surprisingly nimble.” Shinji shook his head.

 

“I meant, psychologically,” he said. “It’s not gonna be pretty when he gets back down.” Kyoutani squeezed his hand again and they watched in silence.

 

Iwaizumi reached the very top of the tower and looped an arm around its peak, the other digging in the bag hanging from his shoulder. He fumbled, nearly dropping the jar the queen had given him, and Shinji flinched. He squinted, trying to make out the look on Iwaizumi’s face, but he was too far away.

 

“He’s got it,” Kyoutani said. Iwaizumi stowed the jar in his bag once more and spent a long moment clinging to the tower.

 

“Come on,” Shinji whispered.

 

“You sure he has it?” Yahaba asked. “The sky still look the same to me.”

 

“He put the jar away,” Kyoutani pointed out. “He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t have it.”

 

“Oh, there, he’s coming down,” Shinji said.

 

“I’ll go tell the others,” said Kunimi, turning away.

 

“Yeah, I’ll go with you,” Yahaba said. Shinji waved at them without taking his eyes off of Iwaizumi, his hand growing sore with how tight he was clutching Kyoutani’s. Every time Iwaizumi paused or had to readjust his grip or his stance, Watari was sure it would be the end. Once or twice, the wind picked up and Iwaizumi slipped and Shinji’s heart stopped entirely. Kyoutani was squeezing just as hard as Shinji by the time the rest of the team arrived at the base of the tower.

 

“You’re almost there, Iwa,” called Hanamaki when Iwaizumi paused. “About four more meters to go.”

 

“When I get down there I’m kicking all of your asses.” Iwaizumi’s voice was thin and shaky, but it carried. Shinji’s heart tentatively started beating again, and he watched Iwaizumi climb down the last few meters.

 

“Let go,” said Kyoutani, and Iwaizumi did. He collapsed into Kyoutani’s arms, dropping them both to the ground. Matsukawa draped himself across Iwaizumi’s back and the rest of the team followed suit as well as they could.

 

It was a long time before Iwaizumi stopped trembling.

 

“I got it,” he whispered, clutching at the strap of his bag. “I got a piece of the sky.”

 

“You did it,” Shinji agreed, and Iwaizumi gave him a shaky smile.

 

“Come on,” said Kyoutani, reaching around Iwaizumi to shove Matsukawa away. Matsukawa staggered backwards, exaggerating the force of the blow. Everyone else ignored him. “I’ll carry you back to the throne room.”

 

“What is it with you people and carrying me everywhere?” Iwaizumi huffed, but he wrapped his arms around Kyoutani’s neck and let himself be lifted nonetheless.

 

“It’s a point of pride,” Matsukawa said. “Mimichi’s in the lead, that bastard.” Kunimi smirked as Matsukawa threw an arm around his shoulders.

 

“Be grateful you can carry him at all,” Shinji said. “Some of us don’t have your ridiculous upper body strength.”

 

“Don’t worry, Watachin,” Yahaba crooned. “You can carry me whenever you want.” Shinji swooned dramatically into Yahaba’s arms, laughing as he knocked them both over.

 

“Come on, you two, or we’ll leave you behind,” Iwaizumi called over Kyoutani’s shoulder. Shinji laughed harder, accepting Yahaba’s hand up. He kept hold of it as they followed the rest of the team back into the castle.

 

Inside, Iwaizumi pulled the jar out of his bag to show his prize to the rest of the team. Shinji crowded close, marveling at it. A wisp of blue curled within the glass, swirling the way Shinji thought a captured cloud might. If he squinted just right, it seemed to even glow slightly.

 

“A piece of the sky,” he murmured. “D’you think it’s the jar that did it, or is the sky just different here?”

 

“Dunno,” Iwaizumi said. He looked up at Shinji delight sparkling in his eyes. “But it’s amazing.”

 

“That’s six tasks done,” Yahaba said. “We’re almost there. Two more days and we can get the captain and go home.” Iwaizumi’s expression softened and he sat back on his heels.

 

“Home,” he said. He glanced around at the team, which had broken up into clumps and conversations scattered around the throne room. “I’m sorry I dragged all of you into this-”

 

“You didn’t _drag_ us into anything!” Yahaba interrupted. Shinji smacked him in the side and he fell silent.

 

“-but I’m glad you’re all here with me,” Iwaizumi finished with an eye-crinkling smile. Shinji answered with his own smile, flopping to the ground and leaning against Iwaizumi.

 

“It’s like Shallot-kun keeps saying, and getting embarrassed about,” he said. “We’re a family, and that’s what families do.”

 

“That’s what worries me,” Yahaba murmured.

 

“Shi-chan?”

 

“We’re being used,” Yahaba said. “Something about our bond or friendship or whatever is important to the Fair Folk, on both sides. The queen or the princes or someone is manipulating us for it.”

 

“There’s nothing we can really do about that,” Iwaizumi said. “We’re supposed to have two more days before this Hibiki person arrives, and from the way the guards were talking the other night, I think they want us gone before he does.”

 

“But supposing they don’t,” Yahaba insisted. “Supposing they want to use us against him. What then? We can’t get involved in this fight, senpai. We won’t survive.”

 

“Then we’ll just have to make sure we don’t get involved,” Iwaizumi sighed. “We came here for Hanger, and we’ll leave with him. This isn’t our war.”

 

“I hope you’re right,” Shinji said. “I don’t think Kyouken’s knife and the power of friendship is gonna be enough against this guy. Not if he was planning to kill his own cousin.”

 

“Remember when Ushiwaka was the most dangerous thing we’d ever seen?” Yahaba groaned, flopping onto his back.

 

“Last week I was afraid of not passing my entrance exams,” Iwaizumi agreed. He shifted Shinji a little closer to himself.

 

“Well, there’s one good thing,” Shinji said. “After this, being captain next year will be a walk in the park, Shi-chan.”

 

“Just don’t make any deals with the Fair Court and you’ll do better than your predecessor,” laughed Iwaizumi. Shinji watched through half-lidded eyes as Yahaba steered the conversation to cheerier matters and plans for the future, pretending just for a moment that nothing mattered and everything was fine.

 

-

 

“I swear if we don’t get out of here soon I’m going to throw someone out of a window.” No one was surprised when Yahaba made the declaration late that night, when no one but Kunimi had gotten any sleep and even he had only dozed fitfully.

 

“Just a few more days,” Hanamaki assured him, but he sounded on edge himself.

 

“If they would just _shut up!_ ” yelled Yahaba, glaring at the door. All night, a sound like chainsaws and mariachi music had been blaring about the palace, keeping everyone awake. “What are they even doing?”

 

“Probably something magical and powerful that doesn’t need to be so annoying but is because they hate us,” Kyoutani grumbled. He had spent an hour with his hands clamped over his ears and was now resigned to wincing and whimpering quietly instead. He had his head in Shinji’s lap, curled in as tight a ball as he could manage. The whining of the not-chainsaws grew louder and he squeezed his eyes shut. Shinji stroked his hair as softly as he could. He glanced at Iwaizumi, who was busy grinding his teeth, at Hanamaki, who was glaring at the wall like he was about to punch it, and at Kindaichi, who was looking around the team and biting his lip. He met Shinji’s eyes and blinked in surprise.

 

“Shallot-kun, truth or dare?” Shinji prompted.

 

“Really, Watachin?” Yahaba groaned. Iwaizumi blinked, the very beginnings of a smile darting across his face and then fading away.

 

“Uh, truth,” Kindaichi said cautiously. Shinji grinned at him.

 

“Why’d you turn down Kanako-chan’s confession last month?” he asked, just to watch the glorious shade of red that blossomed in Kindaichi’s cheeks and cascaded down his neck.

 

“That’s- I- _how did you know about that?!_ ” he stuttered. Yahaba started laughing and Shinji grinned.

 

“We have our sources,” he purred. “Now answer the question.”

 

“She wasn’t my type,” Kindaichi muttered at last, looking pointedly away.

 

“Oh yes she was,” Kunimi said. “Tell the truth, Shallot.”

 

“ _Fine_ ,” Kindaichi snapped. “I turned her down because I’d heard her talking about Kyouken-senpai, and I didn’t want to go out with someone who insulted anyone on the team.” The blush was reaching the edges of what red could do on a face and was starting to encroach on purple territory. Kyoutani’s neck was starting to grow hot under Shinji’s hand. Shinji tweaked his ear, just to hear him grumble.

 

“Your turn, Shallot-kun,” he said blithely. Kindaichi shot him a glare.

 

“M-Makki-senpai, truth or dare,” he said.

 

“Dare,” said Hanamaki lazily.

 

“Next time we see the princess, I dare you to woo her.” Hanamaki grinned at the ceiling.

 

“Dare accepted,” he said. “But don’t blame me when we get married and I end up prince of the entire faerie kingdom. Mimichi.”

 

“Dare.”

 

“Stick your tongue in Kyouken’s mouth.”

 

“No.” Kyoutani didn’t even open his eyes as he spoke. “Try again.”

 

“Stick your tongue in my mouth?” Hanamaki tried. Kunimi gave him a vague grimace.

 

“Truth,” he said. Hanamaki pouted at him, then shrugged.

 

“Why won’t you stick your tongue in my mouth?” he asked.

 

“Because you haven’t brushed your teeth in eight days,” Kunimi replied. “Iwa-san?”

 

“Truth.” Kunimi paused for a moment, as though deciding if he would go through with whatever he had in mind.

 

“If we don’t get the captain back-”

 

“Dare.” Iwaizumi stared at Kunimi hard enough to make him look away.

 

“Stick your head in Mattsun’s bag,” Kunimi said, and the game returned to normal. Shinji curled his fingers in Kyoutani’s hair and tried not to think too hard about what they were distracting themselves from.

 

They played their parts well. Matsukawa gave an unimpressed Yahaba a lap dance, Kyoutani recited six poems in near-flawless English, Yahaba admitted to having ogled Iwaizumi’s ass in the locker room at least once. By the time the sun rose and the noise stopped, they had managed to pass a few hours with laughter that was only a little strained and faces that were only a little too tired. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

 

 

-

 

It was cold in Tooru’s cell, just a little. Not enough to be considered cruel, and not enough to put him in danger, but it wasn’t warm and that was enough for Tooru. He’d never done well with cold. Iwaizumi had always complained about it, but Tooru knew that most of the eight thousand extra blankets stashed in his closet weren’t because _Iwaizumi_ got cold at night. It was nice, really, to be cared about like that.

 

It was less nice, to have that care putting his friends in danger like this. Tooru had made the deal so that he would _stop_ letting the people he loved down, not drag them into some sort of faerie blood feud.

 

Another crash shook the palace walls and Tooru wondered just what he had gotten them into. He’d overheard the guards mentioning something about a lord, a prince’s cousin, and face-stealing before they’d been called away to deal with some crisis at the south gate. One more crash, and Tooru flopped backwards onto the bed. He hoped Kyoutani was okay. He knew he probably wasn’t. But at least he had the team. Tooru only had the walls, the bed, and the thin strip of night sky visible through the high window.

 

It could have been worse. As prison cells went, this one was pretty nice, really. There was a blanket and a pillow on the bed, and a rug on the cold stone floor. Besides the endless free time to oscillate between boredom and utter terror, everything was great. The booms and crashes had stopped, only to be replaced by the most obnoxious grinding-whining-blaring noise Tooru had ever heard.

 

The faeries were preparing something, something big. Tooru had a nasty feeling that his team was a part of it, somehow. Something about the way the faerie girl he’d made that deal with smirked whenever she dragged him out to parade him in front of the team screamed manipulation. Tooru knew all about manipulation.

 

It would be better if he could at least _talk_ to the team. Every morning he waited with his heart in his throat, sure that this time they wouldn’t come for him. Every morning, he let himself be dragged to the throne room and counted his teammates, trying not to let the relief show at the fact that they were all still there. And then it was back to the cell to wait until the next morning.

 

The worst part was that no one would tell him anything. He knew that Iwaizumi and the others had made some sort of deal to barter for his freedom. He knew that he was being kept unharmed and dragged out to see them as part of that deal. But he never had the chance to talk to anyone on the team, and his guards sure as hell weren’t about to tell him anything.

 

The racket grew louder and Tooru sighed. He considered grabbing his pillow to try and block the noise out, but it was too much work. If anything was really wrong, the guards would come protect him, anyway. Everything else was just annoyances.

 

It was somewhere around the third of his nightly recounts of the bricks on the wall opposite him when the door swung open.

 

“Oh, no, is the castle falling down around us?” Tooru droned, sitting up. Standing in the doorway was a faerie Tooru didn’t recognize, but that didn’t mean much in a castle full of faeries. He was tall and handsome, with sandy brown hair and an intelligent glint in his eyes. He smiled at Tooru.

 

“What do we have here?” he asked, closing the door behind him. Tooru regarded the stranger carefully.

 

“I thought all the queen’s guards knew about me,” he said. The man smiled wider.

 

“I’m not a guard,” he said. “I’m a member of the court.”

 

“My apologies,” Tooru said, though not as politely as he probably should have. “I should have recognized your status, though I’m not all that familiar with the court. And truly, every one of your kind looks like a king to my eyes.”

 

“You’re very good at this,” said the man. “Flattery sits well on your tongue. Why does the queen have you locked away in here?”

 

“I am a prize,” Tooru said simply. “It is part of her deal that she keep me well and whole, so she has placed me here, where I am out of the path of trouble.”

 

“What kind of deal would end in a prize like you?” The man didn’t sound snide, but there was something about the glint of his eyes that Tooru recognized all too well. He smiled, his very best get-out-of-jail-free smile.

 

“I’m not sure,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck a little sheepishly. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s important, though. Everything Her Majesty does is greater than someone like me could understand.” The man smiled. He took a step forward and gestured to the bed questioningly.

 

“May I sit?” he asked. Tooru smiled and nodded, and the man sat facing him, arranging his purple cape delicately to one side. “My name is Hibiki,” he said. “What may I call you?”

 

-

 

It had taken everything in Shigeru not to laugh when the queen had given Kyoutani his task. He had held it together long enough for the queen to leave the room and the team to troop out of the palace before he started wheezing.

 

“What’s got him so amused?” asked Sugawara, leaning against a nearby wall like a statue of a storybook hero. Shigeru laughed harder.

 

“It’s this task,” Iwaizumi explained, smirking. “The queen has asked Kyouken here to tame an untamable beast.”

 

“Ah yes, I’m sure that will be impossible for someone named _Mad Dog_ ,” Sugawara laughed. Shigeru collected himself enough to stand upright and grin.

 

“You have no idea,” he gasped. “You should’ve seen him with the captain’s sister’s demon cat. He had Jelly Belly purring in his lap in like two minutes flat.”

 

“Animals like me,” Kyoutani said with a shrug.

 

“I don’t suppose the queen was talking about the stag that lives in the forest on the palace grounds, was she?” Sugawara asked, still smiling.

 

“That’s the one,” Shigeru said. His heart began to sink. “Why?”

 

“Well, I suppose you’ll find out,” Sugawara said. “As it so happens, I was going that direction myself today. Prince Akira, would you care to join us?” Shigeru craned around to see where Sugawara was looking, just in time for the faerie prince to step around a hedge. He glared at Sugawara for a moment, then smiled.

 

“I would be honored,” he said. “Lead the way, Sugawara?”

 

“I get the feeling they don’t like each other,” Watari muttered. Shigeru blinked.

 

“I don’t know,” he said. “I think they get along just fine.” Watari snorted.

 

“Well, you did win yourself a best friend by shoving him against a wall and chewing him out in the middle of an official match,” he said. Shigeru rolled his eyes and shoved Watari.

 

“You hush.”

 

“All of you hush,” Sugawara called. “Don’t want to frighten the beastie away.”

 

“He would know,” muttered Akira.

 

“See?” whispered Shigeru. “Best friends.”

 

“Whatever you say,” Watari muttered, and they entered the forest in silence.

 

This part of the forest felt as ancient as it was. The trees were massive and far apart, leaving wide paths between their trunks and cool shadows under their intertwining canopies. The animals here moved slowly, sure that they were in no danger from the passing party. Even the birdsong seemed more sedate, a stately melody to please the tired old woods. Shigeru stared up at the old trees and felt them staring back. He smiled.

 

“Through here is where the stag takes his rest,” said Sugawara softly. “He is very old, and very powerful, and he does not take kindly to intruders. It would be wise to keep your thoughts closely guarded.”

 

“Do not be afraid of him,” Akira murmured, so quietly Shigeru almost didn’t catch it. He craned around to see Akira standing close to a trembling Kindaichi. “He will know that you mean him no harm, but only if you are not afraid. Fear can make men do irrational things, and that is what the stag fears himself.” Kindaichi nodded and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Akira patted him on the shoulder, smiling at him when he stepped forward. Shigeru reached out to twine his fingers with Watari’s.

 

He couldn’t be sure when the voice had started. As soon as the first word was whispered into his heart, it had always been there, eternal and unchanging. It sounded like the voice of his father, disappointed in his performance. It sounded like the voice of Kyoutani’s father, ecstatic that his son had made a new friend and eager to hear all about Shigeru. It sounded like the voice of Shigeru himself, the voice that kept him up at night with insecurities and plans and errant thoughts and scenarios. It begged him to stop. It ordered him onward. It knew him, it was him. Watari squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, taking a deep breath of his own and trying to put aside his fear.

 

They came at last to a clearing dotted with wildflowers in more colors than Shigeru had ever imagined existed. The forest was still old, but now it was young as well, ageless and existing outside of time entirely. Pixies darted here and there, peering at the team, climbing over flowers, whispering into each other’s ears and giggling. Birds and squirrels sat in tree branches. Rabbits rooted around trunks. A pair of tanuki watched them with glittering black beads for eyes from a hollow knot in a maple. And in the center of it all, crowned with antlers wider than Shigeru was tall, was a snow-white stag.

 

He watched them approach, and his eyes were every color and more. They bored into Shigeru even as he looked around at the others, peering into his very soul. The stag was a king, was the very heart of the forest itself. He was the reason they were there, the reason the faeries had built the castle, the reason magic flowed through this place like the blood in Shigeru’s veins.

 

He was the voice. He was all of Shigeru’s insecurities multiplied a thousand times over, building and building until there was nothing but noise. Men yelling, women shrieking, a child too afraid to cry. Shigeru was standing on the dock in his grandfather’s village, staring up at the shape of a man who reached toward him. Shigeru was facing down his father, flooded with the knowledge that he had not made himself small enough and was about to face the consequences for that. Shigeru was meeting Kyoutani’s dad for the first time, waiting for the shouting match that never came, shaking his hand and trying not to think about how big it was, and how strong the arm attached to it.

 

Somewhere on the edges of Shigeru’s mind were good things. Memories of well-executed plays and laughter and perfect scores on assignments and exams. Somewhere was the feel of Watari’s hand in his. But Shigeru could not find his way through the sea of _not enough_ and _just like your mother_ and _don_ _’t you dare start crying, boy_ to get to them. His heart was racing and his hands were sweating and Watari was saying his name, but he could not feel it. All he could feel was the stag’s eyes on his and the utter terror.

 

The stag snorted, his breath enough to ruffle Shigeru’s clothes from across the clearing. He pawed at the ground, leaving furrows wide enough to house a brook. He lowered his head, eyes still locked on Shigeru’s, and the voice grew louder.

 

 _Please,_ Shigeru thought desperately. _Please, I_ _’ll do whatever you want. I’ll make myself small. I’ll get all the right answers and I won’t boast about it. I won’t be what you can’t stand._ But it was too late. The stag had already seen that edge of desperation, the thread of defiance that promised himself an escape as soon as high school was ended. His eyes grew wide and the world went silent. Shigeru took a deep, shaky breath.

 

 

The stag charged.


	5. Chapter 5

It took Kentarou a moment or two to realize what was going on. One moment he was listening to the stag whisper the tale of the forest, and the next there was nothing but rage and terror. The stag was the source of one, and the twist in Kentarou’s heart told him he knew who held the other. He turned without thinking, without hesitating, and threw himself into the stag’s path.

 

For a heart-stopping moment, Kentarou heard everything the stag was pouring into Yahaba’s head. For a moment, the stag was not a stag, but Yahaba’s father stepping forward with fists curled and breath wreaking of alcohol. For a moment, Kentarou was sure this was how he was going to die. He closed his eyes and let it wash over him, and the stag pulled up short.

 

Yahaba was crouched on the ground, hands over the back of his head, as small as he could make himself. It was something Kentarou had seen before, and every time it happened it broke the already shattered pieces of his heart. Watari crouched beside him, speaking soft and slow and not touching, not touching, waiting for Yahaba to pull himself back. The rest of the team was scattered around the edge of the clearing, all terrified. Sugawara stood between the prince and the stag, an elegant short sword in his hand but pointed downward. Kentarou forced himself to turn away and face the stag.

 

“He is no threat to you,” he said. “He is simply afraid.”

 

The stag replied with a long list of things that people had done out of fear, all the attacks and wars he had weathered in the name of safety. Kentarou inclined his head.

 

“He has weathered much of the same,” he said. “You know what he’s been through. And you know that you are not the one he fears.”

 

It did not matter who the subject of the fear was, it only mattered that the fear existed. The boy was a cornered animal, wounded and feral. He had to be put down like one.

 

“I will not allow that.” Kentarou swallowed back the anger that rose in him at the thought and left himself and the stag with simple fact. “I will always stand between him and anyone who would hurt him.”

 

Kentarou would attack the stag. He would be like every other human and faerie who had come to this place, seeking his favor but leaving with his head.

 

Kentarou shook his head. “If we cannot come to an agreement, then I will leave,” he said. “I will take my friends and go, and never return or tell anyone else of this place. I will not attack, I will only protect.”

 

The stag knew it was true, because Kentarou knew it was true. The stag raised its head, and Yahaba slumped into Watari, shaking, sobbing, broken but not ruined. Kentarou let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, and stepped forward.

 

“You are like me,” he said softly, looking at the stag in wonder. “We are the same.”

 

They had become the same, in the moment Kentarou had stepped between Yahaba and death. This was the stag’s nature, a sacrificial barrier between the forest and its end. He had died many times in its defense, and would die many times more before the end of all. The forest was more than his home, it was his family. Kentarou nodded.

 

“No cost is too great,” he said. The stag blinked at him.

 

The queen needed his heart to perform some deadly ritual that would end the prince’s cousin. It was not black magic, not quite, but nor was it pure. No wholesome creature would think of it, but such was the position of a ruler that she had not choice but to taint herself. The stag did not want to die again, but it would ensure the forest’s safety for some time. He had no choice.

 

Kentarou shook his head, looking down at the lush grass between the stag’s front hooves. “I will not do it,” he whispered. “I won’t kill you. I can’t.”

 

He had no choice. If he did not, then the queen would not release his captain and the lord would come and destroy them all.

 

“There has to be another way,” Kentarou insisted. “Your nature is sacrifice, but think of mine. I _can_ _’t_ kill something that deserves my protection.”

 

The stag tried one more time. If he did not take his heart, then Hibiki would kill Yahaba. It would not be a pleasant death if Hibiki had a hand in it.

 

“Please,” Kentarou whispered. His eyes stung and his hands shook. “Please don’t make me do this.”

 

“Your grace.” Kentarou couldn’t tear his eyes away from the stag to look, but he heard the prince step up next to him, Sugawara right behind. “There is another way.”

 

The stag’s focus shifted from Kentarou and he slumped to the ground. Tears he had not expected came streaming down his cheeks in one great rush. He felt hollow, infant-weak and desperate. A large, gentle hand cupped the back of his neck and he leaned into the touch for a moment, then dragged himself back to his feet. Iwaizumi clapped him on the back and turned to face the stag and the prince.

 

The prince raised a hand, slowly, and the stag stepped forward. As soon as the prince touched the stag, the sunny glow that always seemed to saturate his skin turned icy white, too bright to look at directly. The stag began to glow as well, and the whole clearing turned to nothing but light and calm. When it cleared, Kentarou’s tears had dried and his limbs felt strong and whole once more. Akira and Sugawara stood alone in the center of the clearing, bathed in that same sunny glow as always. They turned away, each with an unreadable look on their faces. In that moment they looked more inhuman than ever before, and Kentarou was sharply reminded that without the sight he held so dear at home, he was largely blind here. They reached Kentarou and Iwaizumi, and Akira paused to give them a long, considering look, before moving on.

 

“Kyouken.” Yahaba’s voice was almost normal, and Kentarou could almost believe he had made it out of all of this unscathed. But when he turned to look, there was that same haunted self-hatred in his eyes there always was after a fight with his father, and Kentarou let that hope slip through his fingers.

 

“Let’s go back,” Kentarou murmured, and Yahaba nodded. He reached out, and Kentarou let him take his hand, wrapping himself around Kentarou’s arm like he needed the anchor. Kentarou squeezed his fingers lightly and followed the prince out of the clearing.

 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Sugawara was saying as they caught up to them on the path. Akira shook his head, agitated.

 

“What choice did I have?” he hissed. “You know full well that all of this is because of Hibiki’s ties to me. We have to do whatever we can to mitigate them.”

 

“Mitigate is one thing,” Sugawara said. “You didn’t have to-”

 

“Of course I did,” Akira interrupted. “This is my mistake, and I’m the one who has to correct it.”

 

“The others won’t agree,” Sugawara muttered. Akira stopped in his tracks, turning to look at him.

 

“The others will not know,” he growled. Sugawara glared up at him, chin jutted forward in defiance.

 

“Of course they will,” he said. “They need to know what you’ve just given away. Damn it, Akira, we can’t protect you if you keep secrets from us.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Akira murmured. He brushed a hand through Sugawara’s hair and sighed. “One of these days, the three of you are going to have to face reality.”

 

“Fucking make me,” Sugawara snarled. Akira stared at him for a moment, every inch a stern and powerful prince. Then a smile dawned across his face and he ruffled Sugawara’s hair.

 

“Oh no,” he said, “I’ve learned my lesson. No one makes you do what you don’t want to.”

 

“Damn right,” Sugawara muttered as he turned and started trooping up the path once more. Kentarou held Yahaba’s hand a little tighter and tried to pretend he didn’t understand them both all too well.

 

-

 

“Hey.” Kentarou had expected this. He had honestly been waiting for Iwaizumi to catch him alone and give him that concerned-but-supportive look. He set down his book and looked up at Iwaizumi standing against the wall next to him, ready to get it over with. “That was pretty stupid of you, you know.”

 

“You would’ve done the same thing, if it was the captain.” Iwaizumi nodded.

 

“I know,” he said. “We’re both stupid, then.” He turned to face the rest of the team, and Kentarou could almost see the stress dragging against his shoulders. “You okay?” he asked quietly. “You did almost die today.”

 

“M’fine,” Kentarou answered. “The puff is more upset about it than me, really.”

 

“Figures,” Iwaizumi muttered. “He’s just like Hanger that way.”

 

“I think the captain’s actually been good for him,” Kentarou said quietly. Yahaba was curled up in the closest corner with his head in Watari’s lap, fast asleep. “He’s always reminding him not to push himself too hard, not to take himself too seriously. I keep telling him the same thing, but it means more coming from someone he looks up to.”

 

“You know, Hanger said the same thing about you and I,” Iwaizumi laughed. “He said you would never learn anything from him, unless it was filtered through me.”

 

“Dunno how true _that_ is,” Kentarou muttered. “But I’m glad he doesn’t realize that I do respect him.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Iwaizumi said. “Your secret’s safe with me. Now, are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” Kentarou insisted. “Look, if you’re looking for someone to mother, try the shallot. He’s scared out of his mind about tomorrow.”

 

“He is?” Iwaizumi straightened, looking over at Kindaichi who was in the middle of a very tense thumb wrestling match with Hanamaki. “He doesn’t look worried.”

 

“Of course he’s worried. He’s got the very last task. If he fucks his up, then we lose the captain and he’s the only one to blame.”

 

“He won’t fuck up his- _oh for god_ _’s sake._ ” Iwaizumi stomped over to Kindaichi and flopped onto the ground beside him, snapping something at Hanamaki and Matsukawa. They both scrambled away with their hands raised in surrender, leaving Iwaizumi to talk in low tones with Kindaichi. Kentarou smirked.

 

“I saw that.” Kentarou snorted and glanced at Watari, busy messing up Yahaba’s hair as much as he could.

 

“You saw nothing,” he said.

 

“ _I_ saw it,” muttered Yahaba.

 

“Shut up, you were asleep.” Yahaba smirked, but didn’t open his eyes.

 

“Kyouken is worried about Shallot-kun,” he sing-songed. “Kyouken was worried about _me_. Kyouken _likes_ us.”

 

“Shut the fuck up, creampuff.” Kentarou shuffled closer until he could shove Yahaba far enough away to squeeze his own head into the leftover space in Watari’s lap.

 

“Guys, I’m not a sofa,” Watari complained. Kentarou just gathered Yahaba close to him and closed his eyes.

 

“Kyouken has _friends_ ,” Yahaba mumbled, already half asleep.

 

“Lies and slander,” Kentarou muttered. “Now go to sleep.” Yahaba muttered something incomprehensible, and his breathing evened out. Kentarou smiled and opened his eyes.

 

“What was that today?” Watari asked quietly. “I’ve never seen him shut down like that unless it was…”

 

“It _was_ his dad,” Kentarou whispered. “That’s what the stag as showing him. And then he was afraid, so the stag charged.”

 

“And you stepped in front of him,” Watari said. “You know, for a snarly loner, you sure are a softie.”

 

“You shut your mouth,” Kentarou gasped. Yahaba shifted in his sleep and Kentarou quieted, waiting for him to settle.

 

“One day left,” Watari whispered. “You think we’ll be okay?”

 

“We’ll be okay,” Kentarou promised. “I just don’t know if it’s the kind of okay we want.”

 

-

 

Oikawa seemed dazed when they brought him out for them to see the next morning. There was the same glaze to his eyes that he always got when he’d been up too many nights in a row worrying about something or other beyond his control. He eyed the team guiltily, and something twisted in Yuutarou’s stomach. The guards dragged him away without a word, and the knot of dread remained in his stead.

 

“Now then,” said the queen, adjusting the sleeves of her sunrise gown. “One final knight, and one final task. What shall we have you do?” She smiled at Yuutarou and the knot grew tighter.

 

“I am yours to command, Majesty,” he said, inclining his head. She smiled wider.

 

“In that case, knight, there is one final chore I need completing. Your task is to steal the heart of the sun. Return to me at dusk with your task completed, and I will release your captain to you. Until then.” She gave them one last dazzling smile and swept out of the room. Yuutarou stared at the door in shock.

 

“The what,” he whispered.

 

“How the hell are we supposed to do _that_?” hissed Hanamaki.

 

“Calm down,” Yahaba said. “It’s got to be a riddle. There’s another meaning, we just need to think it through.”

 

Yuutarou heard them all talking, heard the discussion and the creation and rejection of possibilities, but he couldn’t pay them any mind. His ears were ringing with the truth that they would not save Oikawa, and it was entirely his fault. He wasn’t clever enough. He had never been clever enough. He had failed.

 

“-lot-head. _Shallot-head._ _”_ Yuutarou blinked, turning to see who was shaking his shoulder. Kunimi glared up at him, unimpressed. “Calm down.”

 

“I-”

 

“We’re going to figure it out,” Kunimi said. “You are not in this alone, remember?” Yuutarou glanced at the ash rope, hanging once more above the throne. Kunimi had done his entire task alone, from solving the riddle to making the rope to burning the straw. He was a genius, and Yuutarou was just ordinary. He swallowed hard and looked at his feet.

 

“It’s either the heart or the sun,” Kyoutani said. “One of those is a metaphor.”

 

“Or both,” Hanamaki said. “Watachin’s task was a double metaphor. The necklace thingy was the sight, and the lack of prophetic super powers was the blindness.”

 

“Okay, so we need to figure out which it is,” said Yahaba. “Didn’t Kiyo call that necklace Shiro’s heart?”

 

“Yeah, but we had to give that back. What good would the queen get out of us taking it away again?” Matsukawa asked.

 

“No good,” Iwaizumi agreed. “So then the sun must mean something else.”

 

“What are they trying to figure out?” Yuutarou had almost gotten used to Akira sneaking up on him, but Sugawara was much better at it. “Sorry,” he said with a grin that screamed that he wasn’t sorry in the slightest. “What are you all up to today?”

 

“I-” Yuutarou shook his head. “I’m supposed to steal the heart of the sun,” he said quietly. Some emotion spasmed over Sugawara’s face, then he smiled again. It was such a soft, caring, supportive smile that Yuutarou knew it had to be fake.

 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he said, patting Yuutarou gently on the back. “You’ll be fine.”

 

“But I-”

 

“Suga.” Kiyo stood in the door, a stack of papers in his hand. “You’re wanted on the fourth floor.”

 

“Well, then,” Sugawara said, a little rueful. “Good luck, Sejohs. You’ll be fine.” He joined Kiyo at the door, murmuring something too quiet for any of them to hear. Kiyo glanced over his shoulder at the team, then shook his head and pulled Sugawara out of sight. Yuutarou sighed.

 

“Let’s go outside,” Watari suggested suddenly. “Maybe the fresh air will clear our minds. Give us an idea or something.”

 

“Why not?” sighed Iwaizumi. “What could possibly go wrong?”

 

“Oh, _now_ we’re all gonna die,” Hanamaki droned, grinning.

 

“Finally,” Kunimi added. He stretched his hands over his head as he walked over to the main door.

 

“Aw, Mimichi, are you that eager to get rid of us?” Hanamaki asked, slinging an arm around his waist.

 

“Completely,” Kunimi agreed. “Especially you, Makki-senpai.”

 

“Don’t worry, we’ll sacrifice him first,” Iwaizumi promised. “As soon as we find whatever eldritch horror is waiting for us, I’ll personally shove him into its path.”

 

“My hero,” Kunimi droned, while Hanamki whined wordlessly.

 

“Hey.” Yuutarou started, not having realized he was hanging back. Kyoutani blinked at him, then planted a hand on the small of his back. He didn’t so much shove Yuutarou forward as he nudged gently with full intent of shoving if Yuutarou didn’t do as he was told. Yuutarou smiled in spite of himself and took a step. Kyoutani grunted in approval, but didn’t drop his hand. It was fine; the weight was more of an anchor for Yuutarou than anything else, and a part of him suspected that Kyoutani knew that.

 

They found themselves back outside the stables, though today the trip had been considerably shorter. Kunimi rolled his eyes and flopped on his back while Kyoutani rushed off to greet the creatures in the stable. Yuutarou sat next to Kunimi and tangled his fingers in the grass, quiet while the team discussed possibilities around them. He tore out a handful of blades and, smiling faintly, sprinkled them over Kunimi.

 

“Rude,” Kunimi murmured without opening his eyes. Yuutarou placed a fallen leaf on Kunimi’s nose and laughed when his nose scrunched up in displeasure. Too lazy to lift a hand or turn his head, Kunimi tried to upset the leaf by wiggling his nose, and Yuutarou laughed harder. His eyes squeezed shut and he tilted his head back to send his laughter skyward. “I think you’re fine on this task,” Kunimi said suddenly. Yuutarou opened his eyes to see Kunimi squinting at something near the entrance to the stableyard. Yuutarou looked, but he saw nothing.

 

“What do you mean?” he asked. Kunimi shuffled around and dropped his head on Yuutarou’s thigh.

 

“I mean that you should just trust yourself,” he said. “You steal more hearts than you realize.”

 

“Okay, even if that were true, this isn’t a confession behind the gym we’re talking about. I doubt it’s that simple.” Yuutarou leaned back on his hands and looked up at the too-perfect clouds. “I’m really not as clever as you, you know.”

 

“Sure you are,” Kunimi said. “You just don’t realize it. You think that you have to be smart in the same way as me, but you don’t. You see things differently from the way I do, and that’s more valuable than you realize.”

 

“If you say so,” Yuutarou muttered. He could feel Kunimi glaring at him, but he knew that if he looked he would only see that same placid, closed-eyed expression as always. Yuutarou lifted one hand to play with Kunimi’s hair.

 

Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Watari came to sit by them while the other two went looking for Kyoutani. “Any ideas?” Iwaizumi asked. Yuutarou shook his head.

 

“We’re fine,” Kunimi said softly. “Everything’s going to turn out right.”

 

“Man, between you and Iwa-chan, we’re fucked for sure,” Hanamaki said. “Watachin, please say something pessimistic so we can restore balance to the world.”

 

“Sorry, but I agree with Mimichi,” Watari said. “I’m pretty sure we’re just fine.”

 

“I’ll say something pessimistic,” Yuutarou offered. Hanamaki wrinkled his nose.

 

“Nah, when you say it it’s like looking at a sad, wet puppy,” he said. “You actually believe most of the shit that comes out of your mouth for some reason.” Yuutarou shrugged. It was an old argument, and one he didn’t particularly feel like rekindling that day. He watched the clouds gathering on the horizon and tried to think around the growing lump of dread in the pit of his stomach.

 

-

 

“Congratulations, knights, on completing your eight tasks.” Yuutarou stared blankly at the queen. She had not offered him a chance to present his solution or admit failure, but it seemed as though she didn’t expect him to. Somehow, that made the lump in his stomach grow heavier as his eyes started stinging. It was getting harder to breathe the longer the queen smiled at them.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Yuutarou breathed. The queen smiled wider.

 

“Your captain will be returned to you at midnight. In the meantime, there will be a banquet here in the palace, and of course you will all be invited.” Poison glinted, beautiful and raw in her eyes. Yuutarou felt Iwaizumi go stiff beside him.

 

“You are very gracious, Your Majesty, but I’m afraid we should really decline,” Iwaizumi said. “We’ve intruded on your hospitality long enough. It’s time we were getting back to our own home.”

 

“Oh,” said the queen, her face curling into a dangerous smile, “I insist.”

 

Yuutarou looked at Iwaizumi, then at Yahaba when Iwaizumi offered no solutions. No one seemed to know how they could talk their way out of this one.

 

“We would be honored to attend, Your Majesty,” Iwaizumi said at long last.

 

“Excellent,” said the queen. “Karin, see that they are properly attired.” She swept out of the room, leaving her daughter behind to see to the team.

 

“I have already had proper clothing brought up to your room,” she said with a demure flutter of her eyelashes like the movement of a snake through tall grass. “I will send someone to collect you once the banquet begins.” She turned and swept away much like her mother had done, and the team was alone.

 

“Well, fuck,” Iwaizumi muttered.

 

“Trap?” asked Yahaba.

 

“Trap,” confirmed Kyoutani. “Same rules as always. Don’t eat the food. Don’t join the dance. Don’t give anyone your real name, don’t accept any gifts or favors, be polite.”

 

“So you’re just not gonna say anything at all, right Kyouken?” asked Hanamaki. He tapped the fingertips of his right hand against his thumb in a nervous pattern.

 

“Basically,” Kyoutani agreed as he crossed to the door that would lead toward their rooms. “Whatever they sent us to wear, it better not fucking be orange,” he grumbled.

 

It wasn’t orange. Or, most of it wasn’t. There were eight beautiful suits laid out in their room, each a different color of the rainbow. Iwaizumi’s was an immaculate white. Kyoutani’s was mandarin orange.

 

“It’s only because you said something,” Yahaba said, shaking out his own yellow suit.

 

“Fuck off, you look like a stick of butter,” Kyoutani growled.

 

“I could make so many jokes about this,” Hanamaki said as he pulled on a pair of indigo trousers.

 

“I dunno, I think it _suits_ us,” Matsukawa said, his right side up against a wall as he pulled on his shirt. Hanamaki stumbled, staring at him in incredulous disappointment.

 

“Oh, the _shade_ I could throw at that pun,” he sighed.

 

“Careful, Makki, your tone is getting a little dull.”

 

“Well color me surprised, Mattsun doesn’t like my joke.”

 

“If you two don’t shut up, you’re walking out of this palace black and blue,” muttered Iwaizumi, wrestling with his sash. Yuutarou trotted over to untangle it for him and smooth it evenly across his chest.

 

“It’ll be okay, Iwa-senpai,” he whispered. “We’ll get through this.”

 

“I hope you’re right,” Iwaizumi sighed. Yuutarou thought that he looked like a prince in that moment, every bit as powerful and sad as the three faeries they’d met at the gate. He smiled and the sensation faded somewhat, though not entirely. “You know, that’s a good color for you,” he said, gesturing to the fine emerald waistcoat Yuutarou was holding. Yuutarou flushed.

 

“I mean it,” he said, earnest and quiet. “We’re going to get through this, we’re going to get the captain back, and in the morning we’re going to walk away. I promise.” Iwaizumi blinked at him and nodded, still smiling that horrible smile.

 

“You’re right,” he said cheerfully. Yuutarou nodded and turned away to put the rest of his clothes on.

 

“This is not going to end well,” he muttered, loud enough only for Kunimi to hear.

 

“No shit,” Kunimi muttered back.

 

-

 

This was torture, and Issei knew it had been chosen specifically for him. The great ballroom of the palace had been transformed into an enchanted woodland clearing, lined on every wall with real, living trees. The floor looked like grass and wildflowers, but beneath their feet it felt like hard marble. A massive tabled filled half the hall, groaning under the weight of more food than Issei had ever seen before, in varieties he hadn’t imagined. In a half-circle at the far end of the room, musicians played a song that threaded through Issei’s veins and whispered to him to come and dance.

 

“You’re okay,” Hanamaki said softly as he clasped their hands together. “You’re stronger than them.”

 

“You’re sweet,” Issei gritted. Hanamaki shrugged.

 

“So how long do you suppose we have to mingle before we can go?” Kunimi murmured.

 

“Probably all night,” answered Kyoutani. “She may give the captain over at midnight, but she’ll make us stay beyond that.”

 

“Well, don’t you all look dashing.” Sugawara approached them with a sweet smile, diamonds glinting in his hair and along the seams of his silver-grey coat. “Have any of you made the obvious joke yet?”

 

“I tried,” Hanamaki droned, leaning against Issei’s shoulder. “I was derailed by a pun.”

 

“Too bad,” Sugawara sighed. “Oh, by the way, I heard that you’ve met all the queen’s challenges. Congratulations.”

 

“It appears so,” said Iwaizumi with a smile.

 

“So, if you’re leaving tomorrow, I’d be more than happy to escort you back,” Sugawara said. “I’m headed that way myself.”

 

“Someday you’re going to have to tell me about that,” Iwaizumi said. Sugawara laughed and draped an arm around his shoulder.

 

“Someday,” he promised, and led Iwaizumi away. Kunimi and Kindaichi drifted off to talk to some old faerie woman, and Kyoutani, Watari, and Yahaba went in another direction. Issei breathed steadily through his nose, ignoring the twinge that came with it, and glanced at Hanamaki.

 

“Heads or tails?” he asked. Hanamaki grinned.

 

“The one in the corner, that keeps eyeing the violinist,” he replied. “Tails.”

 

“You think?”

 

“Look at his hair.”

 

They watched, and sure enough the man in the corner downed an entire goblet of wine and strode forward as soon as the song ended. He approached the man tuning his violin with a drunken swagger to his steps and a cocky grin on his face. The violinist’s only acknowledgment of his presence was a bored flick of his fingers. The drunk man promptly turned blue, and then into a little bird that flittered away somewhat unsteadily. It perched on a windowsill for a moment, then the magic faded and the man went tumbling to the ground. Issei and Hanamaki snickered.

 

“Man, the rejections are a lot more fun here,” Issei said.

 

“I dunno,” Hanamaki hummed. “That time that redhead dumped a plate of spaghetti in Hanger’s lap and then let her dog into the room was pretty great.”

 

“Too bad,” Issei sighed. “Those pants did great things for his ass.”

 

“Not great enough, apparently.” The shared amusement faded into the same nervous tension that had followed Issei all night and Hanamaki sighed. “I keep feeling like something’s gonna happen any minute,” he said. “Like I keep waiting for it, but it never happens, so I just get more anxious.”

 

“Something will happen,” Issei said. “Whether we want it to or not.”

 

“Yeah, I just want to know _what._ Right now it feels like knowing you probably failed a quiz, but the teacher won’t give it back to you to find out how badly.” Issei snorted. He glanced at the ornate clock hanging on the wall above the banquet table.

 

“Well,” he said, “We’ve got four hours to find out. Wanna make a bet?”

 

“That one sweater says some monster comes and eats us all alive,” Hanamaki said.

 

“Dinner with your grandma says someone eats the food,” Issei countered.

 

“You’re on.”

 

Just as Issei was settling in to wait, one of the princes appeared beside him as if from nowhere. He wore a gold circlet set with dark green stones in his fluffy brown hair. “Not enjoying the party?” he asked with a smirk. “There’s plenty to eat.”

 

“I’m watching my figure,” deadpanned Hanamaki, squeezing his bony fingers around Issei’s.

 

“Allergies,” agreed Issei. The prince snorted.

 

“Tell me,” he said, “what does your beanpole over there intend to do with my Akira?”

 

“Which one’s Akira?” asked Hanamaki.

 

“The one that smiles like the sun is being born in his eyes,” replied the prince. Issei bit his tongue to keep from laughing.

 

“Funny,” Hanamaki commented. “Our Akira smiles like he’s about to murder you and everyone you love.”

 

“Which one is that?” it was an idle question.

 

“The one who smiles like he’s about to murder you and everyone you love,” Issei answered. “Which one are you?”

 

“The one who wrecks everything he touches,” the prince said with a wry smile. “I’m Kiyo,” he added at Hanamaki’s unimpressed look. “So tell me, what are your grand plans now that you’ve finished all my mother’s tasks?”

 

“Oh, you know,” Hanamaki said, leaning his shoulders against the wall and making vague, grand gestures with his free hand. “A little of this, a little of that. Plot a revolution. Backpack across Europe. Maybe buy a bunker somewhere in America. Little stuff.”

 

“Actually a bunker somewhere in America sounds pretty nice,” Issei said. “We can bring all our friends, set up a domestic little hideaway. Nothing says family bonding like reinforced concrete.”

 

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” Kiyo laughed.

 

“What about you?” asked Hanamaki. “Will the three of you go back to the gate after this?”

 

“Possibly,” Kiyo said. “If the night passes peacefully. We really just need to be together. Doesn’t really matter where.”

 

“Sounds nice,” Issei commented.

 

“It is,” Kiyo agreed. “It’s also dangerous. Look where it landed the lot of you.”

 

Issei couldn’t argue with that, not when he had just been thinking to himself that they had gotten off lightly, and that he would face a thousand more of the queen’s challenges if it meant rescuing Oikawa. Or anyone on the team, really. Oikawa was just the one dumb enough to actually need saving. He thought of his uncle, the faerie hunter, and how he had done everything in his power to prepare Issei to survive encounters with the fae. He thought of Akemi and her fledgling sight, her wide eyes and quiet steps and the way it would get her into trouble someday. He thought of the princes and the way they both accepted and broke their banishment, all to protect one another. He could see each and every person he loved caught up in this war in one way or another.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. Both the prince and Hanamaki stared at him. “That we made the three of you come here,” he clarified. “It’s our fault you’re in the palace.”

 

Kiyo shook his head, looking back over the party. Issei followed his line of sight to where another prince, Shiro, was dancing with another noble. “You wouldn’t have survived the forest on your own,” he said softly. “I’m actually pretty impressed you managed it at all. Especially you. That was quick thinking on the part of the fluffy one, trading his ability to fall in love for your freedom. Especially since he didn’t lose anything in the end.”

 

“You’re pretty good at pretending you’re not taking shots in the dark,” said Hanamaki. “Did it take you all week to come up with that conclusion, or is this just your first opportunity to test it?” Kiyo smiled.

 

“I think I’ll have some wine,” he said. “Would either of you care for some?” He sauntered off before he got an answer, swishing his hips obnoxiously.

 

“Defensive,” snorted Hanamaki.

 

“People don’t like to be called out, after all.” Hanamaki scoffed.

 

“He shouldn’t dish it out if he can’t take it,” he muttered. Issei squeezed his hand and they settled back into watching the banquet unfold.

 

The queen didn’t make an appearance until half past eleven. She was dressed for battle, black armor glinting every color in the torchlit hall. Karin entered behind her, arrayed similarly in all white. The queen smiled, and the hall fell silent.

 

“Friends,” she said in a voice like a mountain spring. “Honored guests. Tonight we gather in celebration of the union of our three kingdoms, and the centuries of peace it has brought us. But we must also remember the cost of that peace, and how fragile it remains.”

 

Quiet, solemn murmurs went up around the hall, a people remembering old losses that had healed, but left a scar. Hanamaki’s hand tightened around Issei’s. The queen’s face took on an artful sadness for a moment then she half-raised a slender had and the murmurs fell silent.

 

“Still, in such times, it is crucial we remember that for which peace is won. It is crucial we remember what we fight for. And so with that said, we extend our royal welcome to the princes Kiyo, Shiro, and Akira, returned from two hundred years’ duty at the gateway to the human world, and celebrate their coming home.” A cheer met the queen’s words, and the three princes stepped forward. The queen inclined her head to place a kiss on each of their foreheads, and Issei had to wonder why he had never noticed before how very tall she was. She clapped her hands together and the musicians started playing, a song that felt like every dream Issei had ever had of flying or climbing mountains. Hanamaki tightened his grip.

 

“Will you dance?” Issei nearly jumped out of his skin; he hadn’t heard Karin approach.

 

“Ah, no I don’t think so,” he said sheepishly. She gave him a disapproving look.

 

“As honored guests of Her Majesty, it would be rude of you to refuse,” she said.

 

“Believe me, Highness, it would be more rude if we joined in,” Hanamaki saved. “There isn’t a dancer among us who would do honor to this gathering.”

 

Issei snorted. “That’s the truth.” Karin gave them a sinister little smile then stalked off to join the dance, armor blinding when it caught the light. She linked arms with Shiro and Akira and together they whirled away on a wave of laughter and light.

 

“You know, it’s a lot less boring if you actually talk to people.” Issei jumped again.

 

“Why do people keep sneaking up on me today?” he cried. Kyoutani gave him an unimpressed blink.

 

“Since when do you talk to people, Kyouken?” asked Hanamaki. Kyoutani pointed across the room at a faerie who cradled something small and furry to their chest. “Of course,” Hanamaki droned. “Leave it to you to find the dog.”

 

“He’s very soft,” Kyoutani said. Issei laughed and threw an arm around his neck, pulling him close.

 

“So’re you,” he said, ruffling Kyoutani’s hair.

 

“’M not soft,” Kyoutani protested, but he was grinning. “I’m tough.”

 

“So tough,” Issei agreed.

 

“And scary,” added Hanamaki.

 

“Damn right.” Kyoutani stopped struggling and leaned into Issei’s hold. They watched the dance.

 

There were no words to describe it. They were precious jewels and flower petals caught in the ecstasy of being. They were the movements of the cosmos. They were music itself. They were magic, woven through the fabric of reality, tugging at their souls and creating and destroying and recreating entire universes with every step. The tempo increased as it reached the climax of the song, colors and faces whirling faster and faster, some with too many eyes and some with no eyes at all, and Issei felt sick to his stomach. He clutched Hanamaki and Kyoutani tighter and closed his eyes against the vertigo, but it only grew stronger. The music grew louder. Issei’s legs shook. Dresses and capes swished. Shoes clicked on marble. Hanamaki’s hand was sweaty. Issei’s pulse pounded in his skull. All at once it stopped.

 

The clock chimed midnight.

 

-

 

Tooru had been dressed like a child’s doll, in a delicately beautiful obsidian suit. He couldn’t help but feel as the guard adjusted his sash and fluffed his hair that he was nothing more than a lamb being groomed before the slaughter. He was escorted to a room just off of of the banquet hall, close enough to hear the music, but entirely cut off from whatever was happening inside. The guard informed him he would be sent for when the queen was ready for him, and then he was left alone.

 

One of two things had happened. Either the team had done the impossible and he was free, or far more likely, they had failed and the queen was bringing him out to taunt them.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in his team. His faith in them was absolute, even in odds like this. But his night with the faerie noble had left him shaken. They had spent hours going over every little detail of the team, and though Tooru had never said any of their actual names, he knew he had given too much away. Something about that faerie had made him want to share everything, anything at all to make him smile, to make him proud of Tooru. It had left an oily taste in his mouth after.

 

Distantly, he could hear the queen making some announcement and the crowd cheering. The music started up again, more captivating than ever before. It turned Tooru’s stomach. As the music grew louder and faster, taking the pounding of his heart with it, thrumming in his veins and tugging at his skin, Tooru knew that its end would bring him to his fate.

 

The music stopped, the clock chimed midnight, and the door to his little room opened. “Her Majesty is ready for you,” said a faerie guard with beautiful sunshine-golden hair caught in a bun at the nape of her neck. She kept one hand tight on the hilt of her sword and her eyes seemed to drink in every detail of the room. Tooru stood before she could decide he was being insubordinate.

 

They stopped just before a pair of massive and ornate doors while the queen said something Tooru couldn’t quite make out. A low, gravely, heartbreakingly-familiar voice answered her, and Tooru’s heart skipped a beat. The doors opened and the guard nudged Tooru forward.

 

All at once, he stood on a dais beside the faerie queen, facing the entirety of his team. His heart stuttered to a stop, then picked started beating in double time.

 

“Thanks to the efforts of these eight, your debt to me has been repaid,” said the queen. “You are free to join them, and at the end of the night’s celebrations, you will all be escorted back to your home.”

 

Tooru tore his eyes away from the team and turned to bow to the queen. “You are most gracious, Your Majesty,” he said quietly. She smiled and gestured toward the edge of the dais. He stepped forward.

 

“You-” he started, and the words died in his throat. Silently, Iwaizumi opened his arms, and Tooru threw himself into them.

 

Tooru was home. Iwaizumi’s arms were strong and warm, crushing him to his chest, and more hands were patting his back and arms and running through his hair. For just a moment, all the danger of the faerie court faded away and Tooru was safe.

 

“Iwa-chan,” he whispered into Iwaizumi’s neck.

 

“I know,” Iwaizumi replied. “I’ve got you.” Tooru’s knees wobbled, but he was all too aware of all the eyes on them. He drew himself away from Iwaizumi’s chest, standing beside him instead with one arm around him and the other hand caught up in Yahaba’s.

 

“A family reunited,” the queen said grandly, opening her arms to the crowd. “Our cause for celebration has doubled!” Tooru heard it, the smooth and sweet quality of a leader who knew exactly how to play to the crowd in front of her. The faeries assembled in the hall responded exactly as she had intended, with renewed goodwill and lust for revels. At a wave of the queen’s hand the music started again and with it the dance. The queen smiled down on the team, then stepped from the dais to mingle with her court. A touch at Tooru’s elbow, and he allowed himself to be drawn toward an unoccupied corner.

 

Faeries stopped them here and there, offering congratulations or simply wanting to look at the humans who had braved the forest and performed the queen’s tasks to win back one of their own. Tooru smiled and nodded and shook hands when prompted, but he never let go of his grip on Iwaizumi and as soon as his hand was free he always returned it to another member of the team. He managed to touch each of them by the time they made it to the corner, reassuring himself that they were there, that they were real.

 

“Do me a favor,” he said when they made it to the corner and he had one hand in Iwaizumi’s and the other curled around the nape of Kyoutani’s neck. “Never do something that stupid again.”

 

“We could say the same thing about you, Hanger,” said Hanamaki.

 

“Hey, I never asked you to come after me,” Tooru cried. He looked around at them all, and his eyes stung a little bit. “You could’ve gotten yourselves killed.”

 

“If you don’t want that, then don’t go making ridiculous deals,” muttered Iwaizumi. They had both been pretending that his hand wasn’t shaking, but now Tooru gave it a squeeze.

 

“You could have died,” Tooru reiterated. “I’m not worth that.”

 

“This is not an argument we’re having right now,” said Kyoutani. “We still have the rest of the night to survive.”

 

“What do you mean, survive?” asked Tooru. “You did it. We’re free, right?”

 

“Not yet,” murmured Iwaizumi.

 

“You traded what you treasure most, right?” Kyoutani asked quietly. “The queen still wants her end of the deal. She’ll do whatever she can to keep us here.”

 

“This banquet is trap upon trap,” Matsukawa added. “The music, the food, the whole thing. It’s all designed to make us slip up, so we’ll be trapped.”

 

“And there’s what Prince Akira said, about using bonded families against his cousin,” Kindaichi said. “She’ll want us around if she’s sure she can weaponize us.”

 

“Unless she thinks he might be able to get to us instead,” said Kunimi.

 

“What are you talking about?” Tooru hissed. “Who is Prince Akira? And who is this cousin?”

 

“ _That_ _’s_ Prince Akira,” said Iwaizumi, raising their twined hands to point at a sunny faerie who was dancing with two other men. “He and the other two with him have been… not _helping_ us, but I think they might be on our side? Or at least, not against us.”

 

“His cousin declared war on this kingdom two hundred years ago, unless the queen banished the three princes from the land,” said Watari. “They came back to the court in order to bring us here, so now the cousin is coming to start the war again. The queen has been using us to prepare defenses against him.”

 

“Okay, but what does any of that have to do with us?” huffed Tooru. “You did what she wanted, so why can’t we just leave?”

 

“Because she can use how close we all are to each other against him,” Yahaba answered. “It has something to do with the way his magic works. And anyway, like Kyouken said, she wants her prize. If she lets us go, she loses.”

 

All the relief Tooru had felt when he’d seen the team faded, and most of his hope. He pressed his temple to the top of Kyoutani’s head and took a deep breath. “So what you’re saying,” he said, slowly and carefully, “is that we’re in just as much danger as before.”

 

“Just a few more hours,” Iwaizumi said. “We just have to be careful for a few more hours. Then Sugawara has already offered to escort us back and-”

 

“ _Sugawara_?” repeated Tooru, eyes snapping open. He scanned the room and sure enough, there was Karasuno’s vice captain, standing by the table and watching the princes. He looked like a barely-contained animal, a lion on a slender leash. His eyes swept across the hall, but they returned again and again to the princes. “What’s the deal with that?” Tooru asked.

 

“Who the fuck knows,” laughed Iwaizumi. “But he hasn’t crossed us, and he’s been more helpful than he probably should have, so who cares?”

 

“I care,” sniffed Tooru. “It means Karasuno has had an unfair advantage this entire time, and-”

 

“Oh my god, shut up,” laughed Iwaizumi. Tooru did, if only because he was too happy to hear that laugh again.

 

“Oh look, he’s coming over.” Kunimi sounded far too delighted, smirking when Tooru squawked and looked up in terror. Tooru wondered, at Sugawara’s smiling approach, how he had never guessed. Precious stones hung in his hair with no visible means of support, and his skin seemed to glow ever so slightly, like the outline of the moon on a cloudy night.

 

“So, captain, you’ve been returned,” he said by way of greeting. Tooru offered his sweetest smile.

 

“It never would have happened without my team,” he said. “I don’t think there’s another one out there that’s half as loyal.”

 

“You may be right,” Sugawara said with a smile that said he knew for a fact that Tooru was wrong. Tooru let it go. Let Sugawara keep his delusions; Tooru had his team.

 

“I hear you’ll be accompanying us back home,” he said. “Been away from your crows too long?”

 

“Well, you know how harems get without their master.” Sugawara’s eyes glinted and he tossed his hair. Tooru kept up his smile for a full two seconds before he snorted.

 

“Oh my god, why have we never talked before?” Tooru laughed. “Refreshing-kun, you’re wonderful.”

 

“Give me some time, you’ll see how wonderful I can be,” Sugawara said with a wink. Tooru laughed harder. Sugawara’s smile faded somewhat and he turned to scanned the room again.

 

“Something wrong?” asked Iwaizumi. Sugawara shook his head.

 

“No, and that’s what worries me,” he said. “He should have made his move by now.”

 

“Who, this cousin?” Tooru asked. Sugawara glanced back at him, then looked at the crowd.

 

“Yeah,” he said absently. “This would be the perfect time. We seem vulnerable, too caught up in our own decadence.”

 

“Maybe he sees through that,” Iwaizumi said. “The queen’s armor doesn’t quite hide it, if you know what you’re looking for.”

 

“Hide what?” asked Tooru.

 

“The belt,” Kyoutani said. “Mimichi made it for the first task. It helps counter his magic.”

 

“ _Mimichi?_ ”

 

“He probably does see through it,” Sugawara said, ignoring Tooru’s outburst. “But if he does, then we lose our ability to predict him. If there’s one thing Lord Hibiki is good at, it’s doing what you least expect.”

 

“Wait,” Tooru said, tugging on Iwaizumi’s hand to make sure he payed attention. “Did you say Hibiki?”

 

“Yeah, Himura Hibki, Prince Akira’s cousin. Why?” Sugawara’s eyes narrowed. The oily taste flooded Tooru’s mouth again and he shook his head.

 

“Iwa-chan, I may have killed us all,” he whispered.

 

“Stop being dramatic for once in your life,” Iwaizumi snapped, but Tooru could hear the edge of fear in his voice. “What are you talking about.”

 

“Last night, when they were setting all this up and making that horrible noise,” Tooru said. “A courtier came to talk to me. I thought the queen sent him, but-”

 

Before Tooru could finish his sentence, the doors flew open and the man with the burnt-gold hair who’d had all of Tooru’s secrets dripping from his lips walked in, smiling and holding a sword that dripped red.

 

“What a lovely party,” he purred. Tooru’s stomach turned at the sound of that voice. “It’s a shame you didn’t bother to invite me, little cousin.”

 

Himura Hibiki smiled like diamonds in the sun as he used the corner of a tapestry to wipe the blood from his sword.

 

-

 

Akira couldn’t say he felt much of anything when he looked at the prince’s cousin, the person who had sparked wars and threatened more. He was tall, probably a little shorter than Kindaichi, and dressed in the lavish robes of an aristocrat. He wore a royal purple cape hanging in elegant negligence from one shoulder, and his robes were deep red splotched darker along the front. Akira wondered vaguely if he knew the face of whoever had created the stain. It didn’t seem important. Nothing seemed important, really, not in front of this man. Especially not the little clump of humans near the back door. Besides, Hibiki seemed too occupied with the trio at the center of the hall to do much of anything that could threaten the team. He took a step forward, and all at once the queen was in front of him.

 

“Boys,” she said without turning around, “you and Karin will escort the guests from the hall. Lord Himura and I are not to be disturbed.”

 

“Oh, don’t be like that, _Your Majesty._ ” Something about the way Hibiki said it stripped it of all respect, turned the title into a slur. He smiled at her, all sweetness and charm. “After all, I came to join the celebration, not derail it.”

 

“Somehow, I find that hard to believe.” And here was the first glimmer of Hibiki’s magic. As the queen spoke, Akira found himself thinking how crass she was, how cruel. Hibiki was a lord, after all, surely he had the right to join a court banquet? Especially on in honor of his cousin, his cousin with whom he had been raised like brothers, his cousin whom he had not seen in two centuries. Akira looked at him, remembered the story the prince had told him, remembered the sadness in his eyes when he’d talked about Hibiki and his war and his plans to kill him, and he almost didn’t believe it. After all, all of Akira’s trust of the prince was because Kindaichi trusted him, and Kindaichi trusted far too easily.

 

Then again, Akira had seen the way the prince smiled at Kindaichi, caught quietly in his orbit the same way they all were. He saw the protective glance the prince sent their way.

 

Hibiki saw it too. He looked over the queen’s shoulder, across the room, and his eyes zeroed in on Kindaichi in particular. Akira stepped in front of him without a word. Lazily, Hibiki wandered over to the banquet table and grabbed an empty plate. He took his time choosing the bits of meat and fruit and bread he wanted, piling it high with the delicacies of the Fair Court. Staining his fingers red with juice, he plucked a berry out of the sauce on one dish and popped it into his mouth.

 

“Two hundred years, is that what it’s been since the last time I was here?” he asked. “Your hospitality has not lessened in the slightest, Majesty. We don’t get feasts like this where I’m from very often.”

 

“That probably has something to do with the way you’ve killed most of the farmers and starved the rest half to death.” It was Prince Akira who spoke, and Hibiki turned to face him with a smile. For a moment, the world narrowed down to the two cousins, the purple cape matching the purple sash. Then Kiyo stepped up to Akira’s side and Shiro took the other and the tension in the room shifted once more.

 

“Look at that,” Hibiki drawled, leaning against the table. He held the plate out in offering to the courtier closest to him, who nervously took a morsel. Hibiki didn’t bother to see if she ate it, but dropped the plate to the floor and stepped forward. “My little cousin,” he said, slow and quiet, “thinks he knows how the world works. Thinks he knows what it means to be a king. But you’re not a king, are you, Sunshine? And you never will be.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” spat the prince. “You have no right to call me that.”

 

“And you have no right to be here,” Hibiki returned. He reached out as though to stroke Prince Akira’s cheek, chuckling when Kiyo knocked the hand aside. “You should have been killed at birth,” Hibiki mused. “Would have saved the lot of us a world of disappointment. Especially your whore mother.”

 

“Lord Himura, I would recommend you take a step back,” said the princess, coming to stand beside her brother. “It would be a shame to have to watch a brawl, rather than a civilized discussion between rulers.”

 

“So it would,” Hibiki said. “And are you the ruler now? Has she started grooming you to be her heir now? To fill the shoes your brother couldn’t? Don’t worry, little princess, when I take this palace, I’ll make sure your death is quick. So long as you don’t step in my way again.”

 

“I never said who would be brawling you,” Karin growled.

 

“That’s enough, Karin,” snapped the queen. The princess glared at Hibiki for a moment longer, then took a step back. Hibiki did the same, sauntering around the room for a moment like he owned the place.

 

“Your family’s getting rather rambunctious,” he said. “Of course, they were never the most well-behaved children to begin with, were they?” Akira found himself wondering yet again why everyone was being so unreasonable. Lord Hibiki was entirely in the right, it was easy to see. His pride demanded vengeance. Akira focused on the tear in his purple cape and the splash of color there that he was certain was not spilt wine. The feeling cleared somewhat.

 

“What will it take, Himura?” the queen said softly. Somehow, it still carried, echoing off the marble walls behind the forest disguise the room wore.

 

“You broke your agreement, Majesty,” Hibiki replied. “Now I want what I was promised in the first place. I want my kingdom.”

 

“You are not the rightful heir,” the queen said. “To any of the kingdoms. The rightful heirs have all pledged their allegiance to me. You will have nothing.”

 

“I will have that boy’s head mounted on my wall,” Hibiki said with a sweet smile. “If you accommodate me now, your son’s won’t have to rest beside it.”

 

“ _Try it._ ” The growl came from Shiro, taking one menacing step toward Hibiki. Both Kiyo and Akira gripped his arms and pulled him back in line with them, and once more they were one united being, Kiyo-Shiro-Akira, facing down the man across from them. Hibiki smiled.

 

“I have no need for lapdogs,” he said. “My business is with my cousin, not you.”

 

“Any business with one of us is business with all three,” said Kiyo. He drew himself to his full height - not impressive considering who he was standing next to - and set his hand on the hilt of his sword. “If you want him, you go through both of us.”

 

Akira noticed, out of the corner of his eye, the way the crowd began to filter from the room. One by one and two by two, they were drawn away by a faerie girl in immaculate white armor and a half-human boy in dove grey silks. Akira refocused on the queen and the lord and pushed the thought from his mind. He didn’t know how many of the rumors they’d heard about Hibiki were true, but he didn’t want to take chances with what could be a mind reader.

 

“That the princes broke their oath to return here, I acknowledge,” said the queen. “But there is no need for this to end in bloodshed. Agree to return to your lands, and I will see to it that they never set foot within the borders of this kingdom again.”

 

“It will take more than that to satisfy me, Majesty,” said Hibiki. “But you’re right. This doesn’t have to get bloody. Just hand over my cousin and I will return to my lands. You will have the peace you love so very much.”

 

“Your cousin is not mine to give,” said the queen. “He is not a member of my household, a fact you were very careful to arrange to your satisfaction the last time we did all of this.”

 

“He is standing in your palace, wearing the sash of your second-heir, tied to your son. Do you have any other excuses, Majesty?” Hibiki fluttered his eyelashes. It was a good deception, but Akira could see the way his hand tightened on his sword. He reached behind him blindly, groping until his hand met Kindaichi’s, and squeezed. Karin and Sugawara had cleared everyone but the team, the princes, the queen, and the lord from the hall. The forest faded away to polished marble hung with green, silver, and purple. The air felt like an open plain under the impending collision of two thunderstorms. This game was approaching its final moves, for better or worse.

 

Thunder crackled and the world hung in stillness, waiting to see which storm would hit first.

 

“Lord Himura,” said the queen, throwing back her shoulders and holding her chin aloft. “You are not welcome in this court. Return to your own lands at once, and no action will be taken against you.”

 

“Sorry, Majesty,” said Hibiki, thumbing lazily at his purple cape. “That’s not going to work this time.”

 

“Your men have already been defeated,” said the queen. “My captain ambushed your camp the moment you set foot in the palace. It’s over, Hibiki. Go home before you make a greater fool of yourself than you already have.”

 

“Oh, I’m not the fool in this room,” said Hibiki, that sweet smile stretching across his face. “Isn’t that right,” he called in a louder voice, “Iwa-chan?”

 

Oikawa’s voice rang across the room, but it had not come from Oikawa. Hibiki’s smile grew sharp and he looked straight at Iwaizumi. Oikawa stepped in front of him, protective and every inch the leader he was meant to be. “You leave him out of this,” Oikawa snarled, the words dripping with threat he made no effort to disguise.

 

“Iwa-chan, come here,” Hibiki said, borrowing Oikawa’s voice once more. Oikawa opened his mouth, but whatever he would have said was lost to a small, confused noise when Iwaizumi removed him from his path and stepped forward. “You see,” Hibiki was saying as he drew a knife from his belt and inspected it with clinical efficiency, “the thing about true names is that they aren’t always the names given to us by our parents. That’s usually the case, but sometimes, when someone is loved deeply enough, a new true name can be created. So if _I_ were to order Iwa-chan here to run one of you through, it wouldn’t work. But if the person who gave him the name, the person who loves him more than he loves his own life, and who he loves in return, were to do it, with my magic behind the order? It’s a fascinating phenomenon. Shall we test it out?” Iwaizumi reached Hibiki and he handed over the knife, turning Iwaizumi by the shoulders to face the team.

 

“Mimichi, get out of the way.” It was so quiet that Akira was sure that no one else heard it. Hibiki’s head snapped up anyway. Kindaichi shoved Akira toward the team, and stood a few steps apart from the rest of them.

 

“Oh, a volunteer,” he purred. “What a brave young man, to step into the line of danger like that. Very well, then, _Iwa-chan_ , take that knife you have there and ram it through him.”

 

Iwaizumi turned, his face devoid of any emotion, any life, anything that made him Iwaizumi, and obeyed.


	6. Chapter 6

When Shigeru had first joined the team, he had been terrified of Iwaizumi. It was a common occurrence, and had been throughout Iwaizumi’s entire career. He’d told Shigeru that with a sheepish smile on his face one day when they’d bumped into each other at a corner store and Shigeru had panicked and dropped the drink he’d just bought.

 

“Oikawa says it’s because I have a ‘resting bitch face’, whatever that means.” Iwaizumi had laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, sitting on a curb next to Shigeru and Watari with a drink of his own. “I don’t know if he’s right or not, but for whatever reason, first years are always afraid of me. But I promise I don’t bite. We’re all on the same team now, and that means we have to work together. So, if you ever need anything, or if you have any questions or any concerns or anything at all, don’t hesitate to come talk to me, okay?”

 

It had left a warm feeling in Shigeru’s stomach, but that feeling had faded before the next practice. Of course Iwaizumi hadn’t _really_ meant it. He’d just been a kind senpai offering words he knew his kouhai wanted to hear. He said as much to Watari as they walked to school the next day.

 

“I don’t think so,” Watari had replied. “He seems like a genuine guy. Not like Oikawa-san.”

 

“What’s wrong with Oikawa-san?” Shigeru had squawked. Watari had laughed at him.

 

“Oh come on,” he’d chided. “I know you’ve seen the way he is. All those fake smiles and little manipulations? I heard he made Rika-chan cry last week when she confessed to him.”

 

“I think that was an exaggeration,” Shigeru had said. Watari had only shrugged.

 

“My point is, Iwaizumi-san seems like a much more upfront kind of guy. I don’t think he’d say something like that if he didn’t mean it.”

 

“Maybe.” Shigeru had still been nervous when they had gotten to practice, though. Maybe the captain had sensed that, or maybe it had been a coincidence, but regardless Shigeru had spent the majority of that practice setting to Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi alone. By the time Shigeru had changed for class, he had found himself wondering why he had ever doubted that Iwaizumi had meant every word he’d said.

 

There had been no such talk when Kunimi and Kindaichi had joined the team. A few other first years had gotten it, but not them. They had been Iwaizumi’s kouhai during middle school, and already looked up to him the way everyone else on the team did. Especially Kindaichi, who Shigeru was sure genuinely believed Iwaizumi could move mountains with just a word.

 

That was why it hurt so much to watch Iwaizumi approach Kindaichi with a knife in his hand, no expression on his face, and every intention of killing him there in front of the team.

 

“Stop him!” Shigeru yelled. Matsukawa wrapped his arms around Shigeru’s shoulders, holding him back. Kyoutani had Oikawa in a similar hold already. “Someone, stop him.” Shigeru was trembling. Iwaizumi was still walking toward Kindaichi. The hall hadn’t seemed so large before.

 

“Hibiki, stop, you’ve proved your point.” Hibiki ignored Prince Akira’s pleading with a lazy smile. Iwaizumi was still walking forward.

 

“Iwa-chan,” sobbed Oikawa, but Iwaizumi didn’t hear him.

 

“Iwaizumi-san,” whispered Kindaichi. Iwaizumi didn’t hear him either. He reached Kindaichi at long last, and Kindaichi did nothing. Iwaizumi shifted his grip on the knife, raising it to settle the tip just below Kindaichi’s ribcage, and Kindaichi did nothing. Iwaizumi thrust inward and upward, and Kindaichi did nothing.

 

The room blossomed with a golden-white light, emanating from Kindaichi like the sun itself was shining from his very skin. The same glow shone from each of the princes, and to a lesser extent from the team, the queen, and the princess. Akira shone brightest of all, and for a moment when Shigeru looked at him, he saw the white stag standing there instead. The vision faded, and the light did too, for the most part. The princes and Kindaichi were still glowing, and Kindaichi was alive.

 

The knife clattered to the floor as Iwaizumi took a step back, horror dawning across his face. Kindaichi shook his head and folded his arms around Iwaizumi, pulling him close.

 

“Kindaichi.” It was barely a sob, nothing like anything Shigeru had ever heard from his vice-captain. Kindaichi held Iwaizumi tighter.

 

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

 

“Well then,” said the queen, dusting off her hands and turning to face Hibiki. “If you’re quite done?”

 

“I- but he-” Hibiki stammered. His face grew stony and dark and he drew his sword.

 

It was Karin who stepped forward to meet the strike intended for the queen, her sword clashing against his with a terrific sound. She leaned into the exchange, and Hibiki stumbled back a step or two.

 

Shigeru had not been in the room when Matsukawa had fought her, but he had heard all about it from Iwaizumi and Kyoutani. Still, their accounts had not been enough to prepare him for just what a sight she made, fighting with all her might against a man who seemed twice her size and more. She wasn’t just strong, she was fast, darting inside his guard and using his momentum and size against him. Swords flashed in the light, ringing off each other and off of armor as they fought. Shigeru could hardly keep up, until all at once Hibiki tumbled to the floor. He was up an instant later, facing Karin with both hands gripping his sword and panting. Shigeru watched him size up the room like a cornered animal, calculating and desperate. He knew in that moment that Hibiki would not win. He struck again and she countered, a quick and subtle twist of her sword that sent his flying and drove him to his knees. She settled the tip of her blade at the hollow of his throat.

 

“Stay down,” she snarled, “or I’ll gut you like a fish.”

 

“Himura Hibiki, you are hereby stripped of title and land,” said the queen. “You will be held, pending execution on the charge of treason against your queen. Surrender now, or be taken by force.”

 

Hibiki looked up at her, at Karin, at the princes and the team. He opened his mouth, and before a single word fell from his lips, he was gone.

 

“After him,” said the queen, unwinding the rope from her waist. She held it out to Karin, who took it, and ran from the room. The queen turned to face the rest of them. “As for you,” she said, eyeing the team and the princes in the same disapproving gaze. “You have until dawn to be gone from my lands. Sugawara, you will escort them to the gate, where you too will leave this kingdom until sent for. Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Absolutely, Your Majesty,” said Sugawara. Shigeru hadn’t noticed him still in the room until the moment he stepped forward and bowed. “This way,” he said, gesturing the team toward the door. As they left, Shigeru chanced one last look over his shoulder.

 

The queen stood in the center of the hall, surrounded by the trappings of a celebration cut short. Her son and his lovers stood silently to one side. Kiyo raised a hand toward her as if he was about to speak, but evidently thought better of it. He turned on his heel and left his mother. Shigeru looked away, ashamed. He followed his team out of the hall.

 

“I hope he was worth it.” Shigeru was sure he wasn’t supposed to hear Kiyo’s hissed admonition, but he didn’t think Kiyo much cared anyway.

 

“It worked out fine,” Akira replied. “There’s no reason for the two of you to-”

 

“Of course there is!” snapped Shiro. “Akira, Hibiki is still out there. Until we know for certain he’s been captured, you’re in danger. He saw, you know he did.”

 

“I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter,” Akira said. “You know that as well as I do.”

 

“Of course you did!” Kiyo cried. There was a crash behind him, and the team stopped, turning to stare at Kiyo and the tableful of figurines he had dashed to the floor. “Akira, you-”

 

“That’s enough, Kiyo.” Sugawara shoved his way through the team to stand in front of the princes. “You know he can’t help his nature any more than you can help yours.”

 

“But a _human-_ ”

 

“Yes, a human,” Sugawara interrupted. “Just like when it happened with me. And tonight, it might have just saved us all.”

 

“Would one of you like to share what exactly is going on here?” Oikawa’s voice, bitchy and wonderfully familiar, rang shrilly through the hallway. He came to stand beside Shigeru, hands fisted on his hips, and tossed his hair. Sugawara smirked first at him, then at the princes.

 

“Well, is one of you going to do it, or shall I?” he asked.

 

“Fine,” gritted Kiyo. “But not here. We need to prepare to leave. The sun will rise sooner than you think.”

 

-

 

In the room where the team had been lodged throughout the week, Kiyo changed into a simple shirt and trousers, then sat cross-legged on the floor and told them a story. The prince had fallen away with his elegant suit, leaving a messy-haired boy with too many thoughts in his head and too loud a voice to keep them there where they belonged. Shigeru watched him out of the corner of his eye as he changed and made sure his bag had everything he had come with.

 

“The three of us have always been meant for one another,” Kiyo said. “I think your people would call us soulmates, though the therm is too simple for what we are. And each of us has something to offer, something to balance the other two. For me, it is a ruler’s power, the choice of who lives and who dies, though it rarely works out properly. For Shiro, it’s clear sight, of what is and what will be. For Akira, it’s protection, for himself but mostly for the people he loves.

 

“There are chinks in the armor, of course. It could not protect his mother, because the worm who killed her was also under his protection. And he cannot control who does and does not receive it, nor can he control the extent. Outside of Shiro and myself, I’ve only ever seen two people as well protected as you.” He said it to Kindaichi, but he was looking at Sugawara.

 

“That’s what your mother meant by that task,” Kyoutani said as he wrestled into his sweatshirt. “That’s why she phrased it the way she did. So that he couldn’t use any of us against the others.”

 

“It should not have worked,” Kiyo grumbled. “She got lucky.”

 

“She doesn’t get lucky,” grumbled Sugawara. “She planned it exactly. She knew he would offer himself up. And she knew he would catch Akira’s interest.”

 

“She can’t possibly have known that,” huffed Kiyo. Sugawara raised an eyebrow at him and he looked petulantly away.

 

Shiro rolled his eyes and nudged Kiyo’s shoulder with his shin. Turning to face the team, he adjusted the collar of his shirt and said, “If you’re all ready, we have a long road ahead. Dawn isn’t far off.”

 

“There’s no way we’ll make it back to the gate by dawn,” Shigeru pointed out. “It took us two days to get here.”

 

“That’s because we made it take two days,” Kiyo said. “We slowed you down intentionally, hoping most of you would be lost to the forest. Now you’ve got us and the queen’s directive at your backs. The night will last exactly as long as it needs to in order for you to make it home, but no longer.” He stood, turning to Akira, who had been silent the entire time. “My love, we have to go,” he said quietly. Shigeru watched as Akira turned, haunted, and took the hand Kiyo offered him. Shiro joined them and Sugawara stepped up behind them, and they led the way out of the palace. A sad, quiet part of Shigeru recognized the look of someone who left what would never truly be their home again.

 

He shouldered his bag and followed in silence.

 

-

 

It was not the slow and careful march through the forest that had led them to the palace over a week before. This time around, the urgency that pulsed through Shinji’s veins and nipped at his heels had a face and a name, a very real consequence if he or any of his friends didn’t make it back to the gate in time.

 

He couldn’t get the image of Iwaizumi and that knife out of his head.

 

In the dark, it was impossible to make out much more than the path directly ahead and the trees on either side. Shinji stumbled more than once over an errant tree root or some other unseen obstacle. Kyoutani caught him every time, silently pulling him back to his feet and further down the path.

 

Shinji was just beginning to hope that they would make it out of the forest alive when they passed into a half-familiar clearing and Matsukawa tripped.

 

“You okay?” asked Hanamaki, stumbling to a stop to see if Matsukawa needed any help. Matsukawa waved him away, pushing himself up to his knees and clutching at his side.

 

“Fine,” he gasped. “Just knocked the wind out of me.”

 

“We need to keep going,” Shiro said. He stood at the other end of the clearing, body taut and ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

 

“Can you stand?” Iwaizumi asked. Matsukawa nodded, accepting a hand up from Hanamaki. He kept his hand on his side for a moment, then lowered it and nodded.

 

“Um.” Sugawara stepped toward Matsukawa. “I don’t think he’s okay.”

 

Shinji watched as Oikawa’s spine went tense and he whirled around to squint at Matsukawa, nose scrunched in disapproval. It was a look he knew all too well, having been the subject of Oikawa’s scrutiny on more than one occasion. “Mattsun,” he said quietly.

 

“I’m fine.” Matsukawa squared his shoulders and met Oikawa’s look solidly. Oikawa stepped forward.

 

“Mattsun, what happened?” he asked.

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Matsukawa repeated. “Let’s just get to the gate.”

 

“Not until you tell us what’s wrong.” Iwaizumi was beside Oikawa, like he had been all night, and against their united front there wasn’t much Matsukawa could do. Still, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and planted his feet.

 

“We need to go,” he said. “We don’t have time.”

 

“As much as it pains me to say it,” said Shiro, stepping away from his place at the edge of the clearing, though his body lost none of its tension, “they’re right. We can’t keep going if you don’t tell us what’s wrong.”

 

Matsukawa held out well. He weathered the glares of all three of them, and Sugawara. What he couldn’t handle, what broke him down in the end, was Kindaichi.

 

“Mattsun-senpai,” he said softly. He reached toward the hem of Matsukawa’s shirt, not quite touching, waiting. Matsukawa looked up at him, then sighed and dropped his arms. Kindaichi lifted Matsukawa’s shirt and Shinji’s stomach dropped.

 

Matsukawa’s entire right side was a watercolor stain of blacks and purples, faded around the very edges to a sickly yellow-green. The bruising started just below his waist and went up the entirety of his ribcage, disappearing up his shoulder where his shirt still covered.

 

“Mattsun,” murmured Oikawa, his voice tight and carefully controlled. “Who did this?’

 

“It’s fine, Hanger,” Matsukawa said firmly. “It was a fair fight.”

 

“ _Fair_?” cried Oikawa. “Mattsun, that rib is broken, I can tell from here!”

 

“I’d say you should see the other guy, but well, I don’t think I so much as bruised her.” Matsukawa said it with a wry smile, and Kiyo snorted.

 

“You’re lucky that’s all she did,” he said. “Karin’s not known for pulling her punches.”

 

“She _didn_ _’t_ pull her punches,” Sugawara said.

 

“You mean you’ve been like this since you fought the princess _and you didn_ _’t tell anyone_?” hissed Iwaizumi. Matsukawa gripped Kindaichi’s wrist gently and pulled his hand down, letting his shirt drop.

 

“It didn’t matter,” he said. “It still doesn’t. We have to get to the gate.”

 

“Mattsun, you’re not going to make it to the gate like this,” said Hanamaki. Matsukawa shook his head.

 

“We don’t have time to-”

 

“Sit down,” Shinji snapped, shoving past Kyoutani and Iwaizumi. “Now.”

 

“Wata-”

 

“No,” Shinji interrupted. He pulled Iwaizumi’s bag off his shoulder and crouched to rifle through it. “Sit down and take your shirt off.”

 

Whether he knew he wasn’t going to win the argument or he just didn’t have the strength to keep standing just then, Matsukawa sat. Kindaichi helped him pull his shirt over his head as Shinji dug around for the pouch full of bandages Iwaizumi always kept around for Oikawa’s knee or any other team injuries. He pulled it out and set to work as quickly as he could. It wasn’t straight, and it would probably do more harm than good if it was on too long, but there wasn’t time to do it correctly. “You should have told me about this before,” he muttered. Matsukawa gave him a pained, but repentant smile.

 

“Didn’t wanna worry anyone,” he said. Shinji rolled his eyes.

 

“Right, because none of us are worried now,” he said. “Take these.” He handed Matsukawa a couple of painkillers from the pouch and packed it all away again, handing Iwaizumi the bag as he stood. Matsukawa swallowed the pills dry with a grimace, then pulled on his shirt with a bigger one. Kindaichi and Hanamaki pulled him to his feet where he swayed for a moment before resettling himself and nodding.

 

“We need to go,” said Sugawara. He had his hand on his sword hilt and stared between the trees. “Now.”

 

“What now,” groaned Shinji, turning to look at the new coming danger. His heart stopped, then picked up twice as fast.

 

There were lanterns appearing between the trees, beautiful lights floating in a long and winding procession. Without Shiro’s necklace, he couldn’t see the creatures that held them, but he remembered full well the sight of the masks glinting in the lantern light, the multitude of shapes too strange and alien to belong to the same world as Shinji. The dawn procession had come.

 

“What is _that_?” asked Oikawa, taking a step toward the lights. Iwaizumi yanked him back by the wrist and turned him by the shoulders, leaning up so that they stared at each other across the span of a breath.

 

“Don’t look at them,” he growled. “We’re going home.”

 

“But they-”

 

“ _Home,_ Shittykawa.” Iwaizumi’s voice was strong, almost strong enough to cover his fear. Oikawa blinked and nodded.

 

“Home,” he repeated. When Iwaizumi released him, he didn’t look at the lights. He reached out with the hand not still caught by Iwaizumi, and grabbed Matsukawa’s. He let Iwaizumi pull them into a run.

 

Shinji had never run so fast in his life. The ground was treacherous and the only light was the full moon filtering through the leaves and the random bob of the lanterns behind and the faint glow coming from the princes, not enough to see the ground in front of them. Shinji stuck as close as he could to Matsukawa trying his best to step where he stepped though with the dark and the frantic pace it was all but useless. The faint sound of flutes, the song of sunrise, chased them through the forest.

 

Shinji could feel the edge of nothingness that surrounded the procession, could feel the pull of the lights. Distantly, he remembered what it had been to contain everything and to have it rip him apart at the seams. Kindaichi tripped, and for a moment Shinji’s only instinct was to leave him and run. He forced himself to turn back and help pull Kindaichi to his feet. For a moment, he caught sight of the lanterns, close, too close, bobbing enticingly a few lengths away. He felt like a moth before a flame, and wondered if the moth knew the light and warmth would mean its death. He turned and scrambled away.

 

Slowly, the song faded into the distance. The bobbing shadows and the lights that cast them slipped off to one side. Shinji didn’t dare look over his shoulder to see if they had lost the procession, or up to see how much night was left to them. He couldn’t tell if it was easier to see now because the sun was rising or because he was simply getting used to the darkness. There wasn’t time to dwell on it, only time to run.

 

The next time someone tripped, it was Kiyo bursting into a meadow and crashing to the ground, skidding to a halt before a pair of trees that jutted into the clearing, cutting it awkwardly in half. Akira and Shiro darted to his side with Sugawara hot on their heels. Iwaizumi stepped out more cautiously. Through the trees, Shinji could see the place where this misadventure had begun what felt like a lifetime ago. The clearing bathed in dawn hardly looked any different from the evening it had been when they’d last been here.

 

“This is a trap,” he said quietly.

 

“That’s the gate isn’t it?” Oikawa asked. “We just need to get through those trees, right? Let’s just-”

 

“Captain, stop-” The warning came too late, and Oikawa tripped over the same bit of rope that had sent Kiyo sprawling. It snapped to life, coiling around his ankle and up his leg, wrapping around him and binding him fast to a tree. He struggled for a moment, but the rope only grew tighter.

 

“It’s enchanted,” Iwaizumi said helpfully. “It probably didn’t work on Kiyo because of Prince Akira’s protection. If any of us touches it we’ll end up the same.” He motioned for the rest of the team to move around Oikawa and the tree. Shinji stepped carefully through the undergrowth, watching for any other traps. Kiyo was sitting upright, holding his shin and watching them with those bright, analytical eyes. Sugawara paced the edge of the clearing.

 

“Okay, so Shallot-kun, you cut me free,” said Oikawa. “And quickly please, this is rather uncomfortable.”

 

Kindaichi complied, taking Kyoutani’s knife and sawing through the ropes. Shinji leaned against a tree, trying to catch his breath and stop the trembling in his limbs. The clearing grew lighter and lighter, grey pre-dawn creeping upon them. Kindaichi swore and sawed faster, but the rope was thick. When it finally sprang free he handed the knife back to Kyoutani and pulled it away from Oikawa with a grunt. He held the rope carefully in front of him while Oikawa joined the others. His hands glowed faintly around it.

 

“What should I-” Kindaichi didn’t finish the sentence, shaking his head and throwing the rope into the forest, away from the team. Shinji spared a vague and half-hearted hope that no one got caught int the trap, but he didn’t have the energy to care.

 

“You okay?” Iwaizumi asked. Kindaichi nodded, looking down at his palms. He smiled, that sunshine and lightning smile of his, and Shinji shook his head fondly. Any other time, he would have shoved Kindaichi playfully, or tackled him into a hug. Now, there was no time.

 

“We need to go,” he said, glancing at the pale color of the sky. “Now. Prince Kiyo, can you walk?”

 

Kiyo didn’t answer. Kiyo couldn’t answer. He was too busy trembling with his fists clenched at his sides, glaring at Akira, at the man with his hand wrapped around Akira’s throat.

 

“Caught you,” said Hibiki with a purr and a smile. The sun rose.

 

-

 

Takahiro felt a faint echo of what he had watching Matsukawa get caught up in the dance. Anger, desperation, a casting-about for any hopeless solution, they all flickered through his mind. But this was not Matsukawa, this was some faerie prince who had dragged them through a world of misfortune since meeting them.

 

Takahiro watched Hibiki’s hand tighten around Akira’s throat and knew that his excuses would not hold for long.

 

“Hibiki, let him go,” said Shiro, his control over his voice tight, but not tight enough to hide the way his hand trembled on Kiyo’s shoulder. “This doesn’t have to end this way.”

 

“This was always going to end this way,” Hibiki said without looking away from Akira. “As long as this little runt insisted on standing between me and my throne, I was always going to kill him. Like I killed the bitch that birthed him. Like I’ll kill both of you, and the queen and her little princess.” His arm tensed, all the way through his shoulders, and slowly Akira’s feet lifted from the ground. “Funny,” Hibiki commented. “You can protect every little weakling who comes crawling to your feet, but when it comes t-”

 

Takahiro hadn’t seen it happening until the very last minute, but he got the full account from Kyoutani and Kunimi after the fact. Sugawara had ducked between the trees the moment Hibiki had arrived and made his way around the clearing to where Kyoutani was standing, unable to do a thing to help. The knife Kindaichi had just returned had been in his belt, easy for Sugawara to snatch without much fuss. The problem was the iron and quicksilver alloy which, not enough to be deadly to a half-human like Sugawara, still burned his palm the longer he held it.

 

Sugawara had screamed in pain even as he drove the knife downward into Hibiki’s neck, right at the place where it met his shoulder. Hibiki’s face had crumpled into confusion, and then into pain. The knife, or maybe the flesh it was buried in, began to smoke and Hibiki fell to his knees.

 

Akira scrambled back, hand clutching at his own throat, until he was a pile of limbs with Kiyo and Shiro, staring in horror at his cousin convulsing facedown in the middle of the clearing. It was not a pretty thing, watching Hibiki die. It was a slow, burning poison and a bleeding out, and his body tried to fight it the entire time. By the time Karin came crashing into the clearing with a handful of palace guards, the convulsions had subsided to dull twitching.

 

“What have you done, big brother?” she whispered, staring down at Hibiki’s body.

 

“He didn’t- he was going to kill Prince Akira!” cried Kindaichi. Karin shook her head sadly.

 

“We don’t have proof of that,” she said. “There is a dead lord here, and justice must be paid.”

 

“He was on the run from you!” Kindaichi insisted. “Your mother had just sent you to-”

 

“To capture him,” Karin interrupted. “And if he died in my custody, because of his struggles or refusal to be taken in, it would have been written off. But a lord found murdered in the queen’s land is a crime which needs answering, and unfortunately, my brother and Shiro are the top suspects.”

 

“Neither of them could have done it.” Takahiro watched Kindaichi step up to Hibiki and pull the knife from his neck. It made a horrible sound. “Look,” he said, holding up the knife. “A faerie couldn’t touch this blade long enough to use it.”

 

Karin’s eyes narrowed. “Very well,” she said softly. “In that case, you will all accompany me back to the palace, while this crime is investigated. Furthermore, you will be tried for trespassing, against the queen’s order of banishment. Izumi, Ichirou, you stay here to prepare the body.” Two of her guards saluted and stepped to one side. Without looking at anyone else in the clearing, she strode between the trees. Takahiro followed like one of a herd, dazed and not quite sure what else to do.

 

The third trip through the forest was the shortest yet. Karin led them sure-footed and true in a course that wound only as much as it had to, and they were back at the palace before the sun reached its zenith. Takahiro took one last look at the trees dripping blossoms onto the forest floor before he had to follow the others through the palace gate.

 

The throne room was a mess of activity, people coming and going like a swarm of ants trooping past the throne. Karin stood to one side of the door with the team and the three princes clumped awkwardly nearby. They waited as the queen listened to the petition of a particularly long-winded courtier, and when she waved him away and looked up, the hall went still.

 

“Leave us,” she said, quiet. The hall cleared with impressive efficiency. Karin bowed before the throne. “Did you capture him?” the queen asked.

 

“No,” Karin answered. “We came upon him in the clearing before the gate, with all of these around him. He was already dead when we arrived.”

 

“Who killed him?” it was a cursory question, one the queen believed he knew the answer to. Kindaichi stepped forward and a new stillness settled over the hall.

 

“I did.”

 

“Step back, knight, this is not your fight.” Kindaichi ignored the queen’s command and pulled the knife out of his pocket. There was no sign of Sugawara.

 

“I found this knife at Mattsun’s house while we prepared to come here. I thought it was ordinary, but when it didn’t disappear with all of our other iron at the gate, I realized it was probably something more. We were just about to cross the gate and return to the human world this morning when Lord Hibiki appeared and tried to kill Prince Akira. I took this knife and I stabbed him in the neck with it. I killed Hibiki.” He said it so calmly, like he was telling the queen what he’d had for breakfast. Takahiro tried to say something, but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He couldn’t look away from Kindaichi and the queen, like turning his head required more strength than he possessed. It was only with a vague corner of his mind that he realized it was magic.

 

“You killed Hibiki,” the queen repeated.

 

“I did,” Kindaichi replied. “I killed him when he threatened to kill your son.” And now Takahiro could see the brilliance of it. Sugawara, half human and half faerie, would be bound to the laws of the court. Anyone else could claim they had done it out of goodwill and not as a bid for the kingdom, but she would never believe it. She didn’t believe it now, but there was no denying that Kindaichi was tied to the three princes in some way, no denying that he was under Akira’s protection. Kindaichi was playing a risky game, but it was working. There was movement to Takahiro’s right, a flash of silver, but he could not turn his head to see. It was gone before he could do more than notice it.

 

“To kill a lord is an act of war, knight,” said the queen in a dangerous voice. Kindaichi inclined his head.

 

“Would it have been worse to kill him, or to let him kill the princes, Your Majesty? I did what I felt had to be done at the time. If that is a crime, then punish me for it, but do not falsely accuse Prince Kiyo or anyone else for my actions.” Kindaichi met the queen’s gaze head-on, his shoulders squared. The queen stood, and Takahiro knew that Kindaichi would die.

 

“The knight speaks the truth.” It was Karin who spoke, stepping forward to stand beside Kindaichi. She took hold of his wrist and pulled the hand that held the knife up, displaying it before her mother. “This is a faerie-hunter’s knife,” she said. “None of us could touch it, not even the half-blood. There is too much iron in the hilt. I was there in the clearing, Mother. I saw Hibiki with his hand around Akira’s throat, I heard him threated Kiyo and Shiro, and you. This human acted in a way that none of us could have, not without risking the kingdom. He is a hero.”

 

Takahiro stared at Karin, uncomprehending. The stillness shifted once more, and this time it was complete. The hall was divided in three, the team and princes clumped against the back wall, the queen standing on her dais, and Kindaichi and Karin in the middle of it all. Then, with deliberate slowness, the queen stepped forward.

 

“Today, you have committed a great crime, and in doing so done us a great service,” she said. “Therefore you shall have reward and punishment, in equal measure.

 

“The human captain made a deal with Sakura, that which he treasured most in exchange for power. When he failed to fulfill his end of the bargain, he was brought here in the hopes that it would lure the prize to us instead. In bargaining with me, you won only his freedom, not your own.

 

“However. By ridding the kingdom of its greatest enemy, you have saved my son and my people at once. Therefore, I grant freedom to you and each of your companions. For the murder of a lord of this court, you are hereby banished from this land, never to set foot on this side of the gate between our worlds again. Do I make myself clear?” Kindaichi bowed at the waist.

 

“Perfectly, Majesty,” he murmured.

 

“Then you have my leave to go. Be gone from this land before the sun sets.” Kindaichi bowed again, then turned to rejoin the others. “As for you three,” the queen said, turning her attention to the princes. “You have shirked your duty and broken your word to come here.”

 

“We have,” Kiyo said solemnly. The queen stared at him for a long moment, every inch the disapproving sovereign. Then she smiled.

 

“Serve out the remainder of your sentence,” she said. “Eighteen hundred years at the gate. Then return to me, and we shall have talks about restoring you three to the succession.” It might have been Takahiro’s imagination, but when the princes slumped in relief he thought that Karin might have also. The queen dismissed them with a wave of her hand, and they all trooped silently from the throne room. Takahiro thought he could see the princes smiling. He definitely didn’t imagine the way Shiro linked his pinkie around Akira’s and Kiyo leaned into Shiro’s opposite shoulder. He grinned and threw an arm around Kyoutani.

 

Sugawara was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. “I take it,” he said lazily, leaning against a pillar, “that since you’re not being dragged screaming into the dungeons, it went well.”

 

“We’re banished,” said Takahiro with a grin. “Always wanted to be banished from a kingdom.”

 

“A fit punishment. How long do you have to get out?” Sugawara asked.

 

“Until the sun sets,” Iwaizumi answered. “Why?”

 

“Because there’s something you should do before you go,” Sugawara said. He turned to lead the way out of the palace, then hesitated. Turning back, he climbed the stairs until he stood in front of Kindaichi. “I was wrong about you,” he said softly. “I thought, from what Kageyama told us…” he trailed off.

 

“Sugawara-san?” Kindaichi prompted. His cheeks were already a bright red and Kunimi was snickering.

 

“Thank you,” Sugawara said at last. “You probably saved my life in there. I’m in your debt.” He held out his hand, the palm marked by a shiny new burn scar, for Kindaichi to shake. Then, with a wide grin and a glint in his eyes, he turned and bounced back down the stairs. “Come on, then,” he called as he crossed to the main doors. “He won’t like it if you keep him waiting.”

 

-

 

Sugawara led them through the forest on the palace grounds, to the stag’s clearing. The princes had stayed behind, to make some last-minute preparations before their own journey, so it was just the team and Sugawara, trekking through the trees.

 

“This is something I try to do every time I leave,” Sugawara said, ducking under a branch heavy with glittering fruit. “There wasn’t time last night, with the attack and all, and in retrospect that’s probably why we didn’t make it all the way through the gate. But there’s time now, and I’m not taking any chances.” He said it all with indefatigable cheer, tromping through the forest with a grin on his face. Yuutarou didn’t quite understand that cheer. He couldn’t help but remember the last time they had been there, when the stag had charged Yahaba and Kyoutani had thrown himself between them, ready to die if it meant Yahaba would live. Yuutarou’s steps faltered.

 

They had lived, they had _lived_ , but they almost hadn’t. There was no reason whatsoever they should have survived this journey, let alone succeed at all their tasks. The forest, the stag, the universe itself had meant for Yahaba to die in this clearing. It had meant for Matsukawa to dance himself to death on their first night in the forest. It had meant for Kunimi to disappear into the dawn procession.

 

It had meant for Iwaizumi to kill Yuutarou.

 

Yuutarou stopped walking entirely, trying to get control of his racing heart. The forest in front of him ceased to exist, and everything was Iwaizumi walking toward him with that knife in his hand and that emptiness in his eyes. Everything was the tip of the blade piercing Yuutarou’s skin.

 

The stabbing had happened. Akira’s magic hadn’t prevented it, just reversed it. Yuutarou had watched Iwaizumi stab him, and then the world had collapsed into blinding pain. A phantom ache settled over the place just below his ribs where, when he had changed with his back to the room so no one else could see, Yuutarou had discovered a new scar. He could remember the darkness swimming in his vision and the certainty that he would not survive this pain. And then the glow and the armor, as if it had never happened, but Yuutarou knew it had.

 

He would never tell Iwaizumi. He had decided that as soon as it had happened, as soon as Iwaizumi had dropped the knife in horror. He would never tell anyone, not if he could avoid it. But there was a mark on his skin, proof that the universe’s plan had been seen through and _then_ foiled, and Yuutarou was sure there would be consequences for that foiling.

 

“Get ahold of it.” Kunimi was standing at Yuutarou’s elbow, talking in that voice that wouldn’t carry to the rest of the team but which pierced through Yuutarou’s thoughts like a ray of cold sunlight after a storm. “Get ahold of it, now, and then keep moving. You can’t afford to fall apart here.”

 

Kunimi was right. The stag was waiting, and they all knew he did not take well to fear. Yuutarou took a deep breath and tried to take hold of the optimism that rode on the shoulders of the rest of the team. Iwaizumi was just turning back to look at him, a question written on his face. Yuutarou forced himself to smile and think of something else. He kept moving, and all at once the optimism wasn’t forced at all.

 

Stepping into the stag’s space felt like the time Yuutarou had gone on a family trip to Thailand and come back to Kunimi’s house the day he’d gotten home to find the team waiting for him. It felt like the eating food while it was still too hot, like flipping his pillow over to find the cooler side, like lying in the grass with Watari and Kyoutani at lunch, making shapes out of clouds and telling stories about what they found. Yuutarou grinned as he stepped through the trees, and he thought that if the stag could, he would be smiling back.

 

The stag whispered to him like a giddy child with a new friend. He told Yuutarou about the sparrow which had perched on his antlers for an hour, singing to him. He told Yuutarou about the squirrel that had climbed to the top of the tallest tree in the forest that morning. He told Yuutarou about the faeries princes and the way they had been smiling, enjoying one another’s presence in the shade of an apple tree by the river. Flowers were blooming and leaves were spreading and the forest was impossibly, incandescently, magnificently happy. The stag hoped Yuutarou could share in that happiness, and for a moment, Yuutarou did.

 

“Your grace,” said Sugawara with a bow, smile still stretching the edges of his face.

 

The stag was pleased, more pleased than he could say, that Sugawara had come, and that he had brought the humans. He had worried. It had been many years since Sugawara had missed a meeting with him before leaving the forest, and the last time had not ended well.

 

“I’m sorry to have worried you,” Sugawara said. “There wasn’t time last night, but that’s done now. That storm has passed.”

 

The stag knew. He was sorry for what had to be done, but grateful to Sugawara for doing it. And to Yuutarou, for defending Sugawara in his stead. He would forever remember the sacrifice they had both made.

 

“I wish we could stay longer, but the queen has demanded we be gone from her lands before the sun sets.” The stag dipped its head and Sugawara turned to the team with a smile. “Come here,” he said gently.

 

Yuutarou was the first to step forward, but Kyoutani was right behind him. Yahaba was the last, joining the line nervously and clutching at Watari’s hand. The stag looked them all over, and Yuutarou felt the stag’s smile, and the forest’s happiness and its will to continue living. The forest had been here before all things, and thanks to their actions it would continue to be here long after they and their memories had faded from the earth. The stag could only return a small portion of this gift, but he would give it gladly.

 

A white glow flooded the clearing, gentle in the midday sunlight, and washed over the team. Yuutarou felt its magic, settling into place next to the protection the prince had placed on him. He could hear music, nothing like the flutes of the dawn procession and yet everything like it. The song of the forest, sung in the rustling of leaves and the calls of birds and the stillness between them all. Yuutarou let his eyes close and just listened. The stag lowered his head, and the glow faded.

 

“Thank you,” murmured Yuutarou. The stag thanked him in return, once more, and reminded him that they needed to be gone. Yuutarou led the way out of the clearing alongside Sugawara, and all the weight of the journey and the tasks and the hectic flight of the night before lifted from his shoulders.

 

Akira was waiting for them at the palace gate, alone. He smiled when they emerged from the trees, all sunlight and music and familiar laughter from the other side of a door. Yuutarou couldn’t help but smile back, and Akira smiled wider.

 

“Ready to go?” he asked. Yuutarou glanced over his shoulder at his team, his family, and the realization that this was the end of the adventure washed over him.

 

“More than ready,” he said, and Akira laughed.

 

“All right then,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”

 

-

 

Yuutarou didn’t quite notice when the other two princes joined them, but one moment it was Akira leading them through the forest and the next it was Siro-Akira-Kiyo, laughing and shoving at each other’s shoulders and marching through the world like it belonged to them. And when Yuutarou looked back over his shoulder, it was much the same behind him. The team did not travel in a grim line like they had on their way into the palace, but in a shifting, rearranging group. People darted ahead to tell a joke then hung back to throw an arm around a shoulder, then repeated the entire process over again. They were one being, changing shape again and again to rebuild itself in new combinations.

 

“You’re thinking too hard about something,” laughed Matsukawa, throwing an arm around Yuutarou’s shoulder. “What’s up?”

 

“Oh, I-” Yuutarou cut off, looking away with a flush rising in his cheeks. “It’s nothing.”

 

“ _Shalot-kun,_ ” sang Hanamaki coming up on Yuutarou’s other side. “Share with the rest of the class, Shallot-kun.” Yuutarou flushed harder.

 

“I’m just glad we’re going home,” he said. “I’m glad we’re all together. I’m happy to be with my favorite people.” There was a pause. Then Matsukawa crushed him closer to his side and Hanamaki scrubbed at his face.

 

“That was _beautiful,_ ” sobbed Hanamaki. “Iwa-chan, did you hear what Shallot-kun said?”

 

“I heard.” Iwaizumi was smiling, a fond tone in his voice that Yuutarou had never heard before, at least not directed at him. “I’m glad too.”

 

“Iwa-chan!” Yuutarou almost fell flat on his face as Hanamaki and Matsukawa detached themselves to wrap around Iwaizumi instead. Oikawa squawked in protest, trying to wedge himself into the cluster. Iwaizumi shouted at them and Kunimi laughed and Watari threw himself into the fray as well and Yuutarou’s heart felt even lighter. Someone started singing, and soon most of the team had joined in, a discordant cacophony of caterwauls and screeching and Iwaizumi’s soft baritone. Yuutarou grinned and joined his in with his own wretched offering.

 

“God, you’re all horrible,” shouted Kiyo, whirling around to walk backwards in front of them. “Please tell me you’re doing this on purpose.”

 

“I thought we were doing pretty good,” sniffed Hanamaki.

 

“Iwa-chan was doing good,” Kyoutani said. “You sounded like Hanger in the shower.”

 

“Rude!” Yuutarou started laughing and soon it spread to the others as well. Kiyo stared at them in horror.

 

“Oh, like you’re any better,” Sugawara called from where he was clinging to Kyoutani’s back, either too lazy or too clever to walk himself. Kiyo spluttered, a hand over his heart. He turned around, stomping a bit and muttering just loud enough for the others to hear about ingratitude and false friends while Akira and Shiro laughed at him.

 

Whether it was because Yuutarou was in a better mood or something to do with the forest itself, this time around the walk was a sweetly magical thing. Flowers waved in gentle breezes and birds sang complex and enchanting melodies as they walked. Little balls of light, too large and colorful to be fireflies, danced around the edges of the path. It was as though the forest were laughing from sheer delight of its own existence by the time they came to a clearing loaded with dancing faeries.

 

Yuutarou reacted without thinking, and Yahaba, Hanamaki, Iwaizumi, and Kyoutani all did the same. Five hands wrapped themselves around Matsukawa’s arms five terrified attempts to keep him close, keep him safe. The music thrummed through Yuutarou’s pulse, but all he could think about was the danger. Six humans were in the ring, the same six as before, trying to dance on bloodied and mangled stumps. He held Matsukawa a little tighter.

 

“It’s fine.” Matsukawa’s voice was not strained, but nor was it full of dreamy haze. “I’m okay. It isn’t affecting me.”

 

“Mattsun, are you-” Matsukawa turned to Hanamaki with no smile on his face, only solemn reassurance.

 

“I’m okay,” he repeated. “Let’s just keep moving.”

 

As they left the clearing behind, Yuutarou couldn’t help but wonder if any of them were the same people they had been a week prior. Home was ahead, but would it still be home when they reached it?

 

-

 

The princes stopped just before the gate and turned to face the team, standing as they had before as the final barrier between the worlds. Sugawara clambered off of Kyoutani and flounced over to stand by the princes.

 

“Well then,” he said, grinning. “See you all on the court sometime.” He clapped Kiyo on the shoulder as he passed, and then he was gone, disappearing between the gateway trees. The princes still faced the team, and a vague and desperate foreboding flooded Hajime. He slipped his hand into Oikawa’s and held tight.

 

“Oikawa Tooru,” said Kiyo, voice devoid of any boyishness. He was a prince, a watchman at the gate, a creature beyond human comprehension and outside of human influence. “Now you face a choice.”

 

“When you entered this forest, you did so in the pursuit of power,” continued Shiro, his voice ringing with the same implacable power. “You traded for it, and your trade was not received.”

 

“It will be received now, if you so choose.” Akira’s voice was the glare of light off of snow, unforgiving. “Step forward with one portion of the trade, and we will retain the other. The power to defeat your enemies, the ability to lead people to victory over those who stand in your way, or that which you cherish most. Your team, or that which you could never give to them.”

 

Overhead, the sun began a too-rapid descent toward the horizon. One moment, Oikawa was holding Hajime’s hand too tight, and the next he was gone, standing in the center of the clearing. In front of him were the princes and the gate, and behind him was the team. Hajime tried to call out, tried to reach for him, but his voice died in his throat and his hand would not move. He stood, a statue among statues, looking at the only life that mattered in that moment, the life that mattered more to Hajime than any other.

 

That wasn’t right. Hajime tried to shake his head, to clear it, but he couldn’t. It was true that Oikawa was his best friend, but that didn’t mean his other friends didn’t matter at all, did it? It didn’t mean he would sacrifice the team for Oikawa’s sake.

 

Except that, in a way, it did. He had dragged the team here, on a fool’s errand to rescue Oikawa. He had played right into the faeries’ hands, and now the entire team was going to suffer for it.

 

But the team had made a choice too. Every last one of them had decided to cross the threshold, knowing what it could mean if they failed. Hajime hadn’t been the only one ready to give everything for Oikawa’s sake. And after all, Oikawa had given everything for them, time and time again.

 

Hajime’s mind was a whirlwind of doubts and answers to doubts and doubts to answers, tumbling head-over-heels-over-head, round and around until he couldn’t think anything at all. Then everything went silent and Oikawa took a step forward.

 

This was it. Oikawa was going to step through the gate with everything he had ever wanted. He was going to walk forward on a knee that never twinged and step onto a court where everyone knew his name and stepped aside to let him pass. _You_ _’re the partner I can boast about,_ that was what Iwaizumi had said that day. He hadn’t realized then that it didn’t matter. Oikawa would move on, would conquer the world, and Iwaizumi didn’t matter.

 

“The power to defeat my enemies,” Oikawa said, very slowly and very carefully, “is something I already have. I don’t need magic to achieve that.” He glanced over his shoulder with the kind of smile he only ever gave when he was being absolutely, painfully sincere, and Hajime’s heart stuttered to a stop in his chest. Turning back to the princes, he tossed his head and scoffed. “Nothing you could offer me could possibly be worth my team.”

 

The world was absolutely still for a moment or an eternity. Then Kiyo smiled.

 

“Very well then,” he said, and a glint of fascinated joy danced in the very edges of his voice. “In that case, you are all free to go. Return to your world, with our blessing.”

 

Hajime walked forward with the rest of the team, too dazed to do anything other than follow. He barely even noticed the moment they crossed the threshold of the gate, or that everything was suddenly much heavier. He raised a hand absently, staring at the iron bracelet weighing down his wrist, and blinked.

 

“Iwa-chan,” sang that voice that had brought Hajime more pain and more joy than any other. “If you keep thinking too hard, your brain’s gonna explode.”

 

All at once, Hajime was back, inhabiting his own body more thoroughly than he ever had before. He turned slowly to look at Oikawa, watching him flinch and hold his arms up protectively. He threw his arms around him.

 

“If you _ever_ pull a stunt like that again,” he hissed into Oikawa’s ear, “I will personally cut your dick off and strangle you with it.”

 

“Vivid,” commented Hanamaki, but he was watching them with too-bright eyes and a smile sketching at the corners of his mouth. Hajime held Oikawa tighter for just a moment, then let him go, stepping to one side so that the others could hug him as well. He found himself in Matsukawa’s arms instead, too exhausted to complain and too grateful to work up much desire to. He looked up at the quickly-darkening sky and frowned.

 

“Wonder what day it is,” he murmured.

 

“Only one way to find out,” Matsukawa said. “My house is the closest.” Hajime nodded.

 

It was fully dark by the time they arrived, and Matsukawa’s house was locked up tight. It was either a very good sign or a very bad: Matsukawa’s parents were still on their business trip, or they had given up expecting him back.

 

“Here, I’ll do it,” Oikawa said, making his way to the front of the group and digging in his pocket. He crouched in front of the door and said, “I’ve broken in here more times than I can count.”

 

“I _knew_ Akemi wasn’t letting you in,” Matsukawa hissed. Kunimi shook his head in disappointment.

 

“I taught you how to pick locks, and this is how you use that skill?” he droned.

 

“And you use it for _what_ exactly?” snapped Kindaichi. Oikawa grinned and set to work.

 

“Mattsun’s dad’s a really good cook,” he said. “And Mattsun’s warm. And Iwa-chan hits me when I break into his house.”

 

“With good reason,” Hajime growled. Oikawa ignored him, and with a triumphant _snick_ the lock flipped open. Oikawa stood back to let Matsukawa be the first through the door.

 

He ran straight into his little sister.

 

“Nii-chan, I thought you’d already left,” she said dismissively, scuttling around him to grab something from a shelf in the entryway. “Aunt Riko isn’t even here yet.”

 

Matsukawa stared at his sister for a moment, then fell to his knees and threw his arms around her. “Akemi,” he whispered. “I’m home.”

 

“Welcome home, Nii-chan,” Akemi said awkwardly, patting at Matsukawa’s hair. “Ken-nii, is he okay?”

 

“He’s fine,” laughed Kyoutani. “He was just worried. It’s been a bit longer for us.”

 

“Did the key we found work?” she asked, pushing a little impatiently at her brother’s arms. Hajime glanced at Kyoutani in time to see a shadow pass over his face and be banished.

 

“It did,” he said. “We got the captain back.” Akemi’s eyes swung up to take in Oikawa, and she grimaced.

 

“Good job,” she said unenthusiastically. Matsukawa held her tighter and she huffed. “Nii-chan, you have to let me go,” she said.

 

“I’m never letting you go again,” Matsukawa growled. Hajime tried not to laugh at the disgusted expression on Akemi’s face, but he didn’t quite manage it.

 

-

 

Later, sprawled on one of the futons on Matsukawa’s bedroom floor with Oikawa curled with his back to one side and Kunimi draped across his chest, Hajime closed his eyes and let the tears come. It was useless to hide from the others, so he didn’t try.

 

“Sorry,” he whispered when Kunimi sat up. He peeled open his eyes and Kunimi gave him a ghost of a smile and shook his head.

 

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “You’ve been through a lot.”

 

“No more than anyone else,” Hajime muttered.

 

“Oh, shut up,” growled Kyoutani. “You know damn well it doesn’t work that way.”

 

“Iwa-chan, what’s got you so upset?” Oikawa hadn’t moved, hadn’t even craned his head to look at him. He spoke with all the quiet calm of a lifetime of understanding, and Hajime cried harder.

 

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “But it shouldn’t have worked like it did. We shouldn’t have managed this.”

 

“But we did.” Oikawa said it not like he was arguing or making a point, but like a natural completion to Hajime’s thoughts.

 

“We can move on from this,” said Kindaichi.

 

“ _How_?” It was a ruined sob of a question and Oikawa pressed a little closer.

 

“However we want,” Kindaichi answered. “There are no rules from here.”

 

“I don’t think I can just go back to-”

 

“So don’t,” interrupted Yahaba. He was sitting on the edge of the cluster, his legs in Kindaichi’s lap and his back against the wall. He blushed when Hajime looked at him, but didn’t look away. “Look,” he said quietly, then paused to chew on his lip for a moment. “I don’t- I don’t know what the fuck true love even is, but I do want to hang out with you for basically the rest of my life. I want _this_ ,” he gestured around at the pile of limbs and quiet faces, “forever. We’re not the same people who walked into the forest. Pretending we were would be useless.”

 

“Shi-chan, that was beautiful,” sniffed Watari, loud and obnoxious. “I love you too.” Hajime watched the long process of Watari untangling himself from Hanamaki and picking his way across the room to throw himself, sobbing, into Yahaba’s lap. Hajime’s chest felt tight, too tight, and then he laughed.

 

And laughed some more.

 

-

 

There were rules for walking. There were rules for studying. There were rules for sleeping and eating and loving and for ever single aspect of life. They were necessary. They were the only things that kept people safe. They were so very easy to break.

 

But then, sometimes, the rules were meant to be broken. Sometimes, if someone were desperate enough and clever enough and brave enough, breaking the rules could lead to a life far greater than anything they could have possibly imagined.

 

Hajime didn’t know what Oikawa had been doing the day he broke the rules, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t grateful for it. He sat with his back against the wall, waiting for his heart rate to slow and his breathing to calm, rolling a water bottle between his palms, and looked out across the gym. He didn’t play on a team anymore, just pickup games here and there with a couple of other guys from his university. He hadn’t even meant to play today, but Kuroo had cornered him in the gym and pleaded, ignoring all of Hajime’s protests that he had other things to do that afternoon. It was Kindaichi’s birthday, and they had plans to go out as a team to celebrate.

 

He should have seen it coming, then, that the team would find him anyway. Hardly a weekend went by without one or more of them making the two-hour train ride to crash his campus, or Hanamaki’s or Oikawa’s. Sometimes it was the other way around, Hajime coming back to Miyagi to sit on on Aobajousai practice matches or just to eat a meal cooked by someone who didn’t think instant ramen was a food group. But even so, when the door opened and Hajime craned his neck up to see Yahaba glaring down at him in disapproval, he couldn’t help the utter joy that gripped his chest.

 

No matter how many times it happened, Hajime was always glad to come home.


End file.
